
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ChapTSZsCopyriglit No. 

Shelf.-^.i2i.£.5^ V\ 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

















.W r 


# ■ 


• / 






4 I 


% 




“7». 


( >/> ^ 




’ fc*- ’i 


■% ^ 




■i 


4 -fll 


-• • 


< 


:4 






f; 


V \ * 


i> 


« I 


‘m 






M 


wl 




.*■ -I ^ 


•V. \ » 


r'l 


— ♦ 




Si(^ ■'.’?,) -• '■- • --i^v’ :«'' O'.-.' - ’ 

. • . • I*’ * « i ‘P "' - -1^. 

■li»C*/*iV ^ . *1 fc-v,'* - ■■■* > • • ■'^ ' ^ 

l^B *• p " ' ^ . v"- 


“•j 


y*) 


• i 


?» <. 


VK 








•• 






/' .4 '•V'- 




' ' I 


. I 


^ f> 










. I 


V 






vr 


¥* 




\iS 


i' f 


e i 


i » 


* 


*«< 




<« 

f 




X? 


s. f 


* w 


V* 


VaV^ 


M 










« 


V f' 


I 


• t • 


1 V' 




> ' 








^ • 




« /.' 






2? 


54 


-*• I 


5 




^ A'' 


^ •• 


.■■‘A\ 


X- 


k 


* *■ 




J* I 




Vt 






SITT 77 T 




m^\ 




•>y; 


••t 




V 


• I .'■ 








•r • 


1 Z J'< 


a 4 


« - 






L*C 




Hi 


0 • 


i '» 


- 1 


♦ r 


#r^. 






j/-' 


( *’ 

VS: 


•J.v 


a 4 


N^ ) 


• ► 


•M 


»Jr 


11 ^tv 




I > 


/V 


r> 


1 


'K 






J- V 




ir* 


V - 




^ i 


/: 4 '' 


> 


in 


■iS. 


a V 


• - 


•» I \ 


^ Mr 


- *- 


I-, •«. 






^ • • If*^' i ' !► * , V ' 1 

»V '■■■'* *^ * MiW 

I • ■ ^ 1 «_« »« 


f 


ViriiiiiSi-ii.v. 


i I 


••*. a: 




«. 


.# .'•I 




HER PLACE ASSIGNED 


^ ^torg 

FOR OLDER SUNDAY-SCHOOL SCHOLARS. 



WALTER E. SCHUETTE. 


“ O ILord, who hast my place assigned. 
And made my duties plain, 

Grant for my work a ready mind — 
My wayward thoughts restrain.” 



LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY. 

TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 


[copyright, 1898, BY THE LUTHERAN PUBLICATION SOCIETY.] 



B1,98 


tbe 

SERVICE OF THE LORD JESUS 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME HAS BEEN DEDICATED 
IN THE 

Faith and Fear of God, 

BY 


TH^ AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


This story has been written for those young 
men and young women who do not think they are 
too old to go to Sunday-school when they have 
reached the middle and upper teens. It has 
seemed to the author that this noble band of 
young people has been too little regarded in Sun- 
day-school literature, the majority of Sunday- 
school books being of too juvenile a character to 
interest them. In many cases the want has been 
supplied by furnishing them books which have 
not been written with the welfare of their souls in 
view. The result has been disastrous. A book 
of non-religious morality, harmful in itself, be- 
comes doubly harmful when placed on the shelves 
of our Sunday-school libraries. 

The events of the narrative have been taken 
from every-day home life, for reasons that will be- 
come obvious on its perusal. 

The importance of the subject dealt with is ac- 
knowledged by all. Its presentation to the minds 
of young people has been regarded by the writer 
(iii) 


IV 


PREFACE. 


as highly desirable and certain to produce bene- 
ficial results. 

While this story has been written mainly for 
older scholars, the author is fully confident that it 
contains nothing which will harm the mind or the 
soul of the younger into whose hands it may hap- 
pen, as it deals entirely with events that come 
under their keen observation every day in the 
home circle. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


chapter I. 

Th^ Ci,ass Oif ’8i, R. H. S 7 

CHAPTER II. 

The Committee i6 

CHAPTER III. 

The Committee’s Report 33 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Doners 49 

CHAPTER V. 

“ There is a reaper ” 64 

CHAPTER VI. 

Some Young Foeks’ Doings 83 

CHAPTER VII. 

Confirmation 100 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Middeers 114 

CHAPTER IX. 

A JOEEY Time 130 

CHAPTER X. 

Commencement 150 

CHAPTER XI. 

Two Addresses 164 

(v) 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER XII. 

An Unexpected Voyage ^79 

CHAPTER XIII. 

New Friends 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Home Again 216 

CHAPTER XV. 

“Good Bye” 235 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Summer’s Outing • 242 

CHAPTER XVII. 

“ What God Hath Joined “ 271 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Mrs. Heeen 289 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Corine 308 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Great Strike 334 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Surrender 363 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Another Surrender 382 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Ceass Once More 


CHAPTER I. 


the; class of ’8i, r. h. s. 

“Well, I move that Tom Green be elected 
chairman pro tern?'* It was Fannie Drew’s saucy 
voice that said this. 

“Second the motion!” chorused the whole 
class, even Tom forgetting himself and joining in 
the boisterous support. 

“Carried!” asserted Fannie. “Jane, you and 
Willie escort him to the platform.” 

This was done amid a storm of laughter and ap- 
plause that made the stately old school-room feel 
that its dignity had been violated. Never mind! 
This was just about what took place every year 
when the new “First Years” met at the begin- 
ning of their High School course. 

Riverton High School was justly famed for its 
excellent work. A State governor, four senators 
and numerous congressmen, eight college profess- 
ors, and some thirteen clergymen called it their 
Alma Mater ^ not to mention dozens of successful 
lawyers, also bankers and other business men; and, 
( 7 ) 


8 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


above all others, scores of charming women who, 
almost without exception, had been imbued with 
a good measure of thorough-going common sense 
ill addition to their liberal education, as was amply- 
proved by their intelligent and sensible woman- 
hood in later life. No wonder that, what with the 
dignity and pride accruing from this record, 
coupled with the strict order insisted upon by Miss 
Marker, the old room always felt a nervous shock 
when the new “First Years’* met to organize. 

But what could the poor old room do? Here 
they were again, this year more boisterous than 
ever, and nobody nigh to hinder. So, with a good- 
natured sigh and a sly wink, which seemed to 
mean that hard study and up-hill work would soon 
tone down this exuberance of noisy spirit, the old 
room concluded to allow the meeting to proceed. 

This the meeting did as follows: Tom arose to 
deliver the customary “speech by the Chair.” He 
was well fitted for the position to which he had 
been elected, having served for two years as Chair- 
man of a rhetorical section in the Grammar grades. 

“Tadies and gentlemen,” he said, “I thank you 
very sincerely for the honor conferred upon me by 
yourselves in making me your temporary chair- 
man, and I hope that I shall be able to serve you 
as such for many years.” 


THE CLASS OF ’8l, R. H. S. 


9 


“O my!” interposed Fannie. “Just listen! 
Temporary chairman for many years! I^aw sakes! 
Do tell!” 

The class did “listen,” and they did “tell.” 
They overwhelmed Tom with a complete barnyard 
chorus of cackles and quacks and brays and bahs. 
He saw how ridiculous his blunder was, and, auda- 
cious though he had always proved himself, he 
could not keep back a quick blush of confusion 
that reddened his stout face up to the roots of his 
curly brown hair. But he was too plucky to allow 
himself to become much disconcerted. So, putting 
on an air of stern dignity which he could affect 
even at the most trying moments, he rapped the 
desk with his knuckles and called for order. 

When Tom was careful enough he could express 
himself quite well. 

“It would be useless,” he continued, “on my 
part, to try to express my appreciation of this 
honor; but I cannot permit this opportunity to 
pass without openly acknowledging that it is due 
to the excellent judgment of Miss Fannie Drew 
that I have been thus highly exalted. I therefore 
hereby publicly and solemnly promise that I shall 
reward her by buying her one of those little toy 
balloons in Daddy Rice’s window, that she has 
been looking at so wistfully every day for at least 
two months.” 


lO 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


In the hubbub that followed nothing was distin- 
guishable but Fannie’s voice shrilling out: “You 
horrid, mean boy! Just you wait!” Tom was 
perfectly willing to wait. He and Fannie always 
were at swords’ points, and almost always to his 
discomfiture. This time he had had sweet 
revenge. 

As soon as the confusion had so far subsided 
that further steps were possible, Tom again applied 
his knuckles to the desk-top, and, assuming a 
very business-like and methodical air, proceeded. 

“We have met here,” he continued, “for the 
purpose of organizing ourselves as a class that is to 
do honor to Riverton High School. The first 
thing in order is the appointment of a temporary 
secretary.” 

Several names were proposed ; the choice falling 
on Fannie. She seated herself at the other end of 
the long desk, as far from Tom as possible. Tom 
then resumed. 

“We will now attend to whatever business may 
be in hand to reach the end of our organization. 
The Chair will be pleased to entertain suggestions 
from any member present.” 

At this one of the girls, a blue-eyed, blonde- 
haired little maid, whom the girls called Posey, 
but whose name was Rosie — Rose Berner — arose 


THE CLASS OF ’8l, R. H. S. II 

to say: “Mr. Chairman, I would suggest that we 
select our class colors first. I think blue and pink 
would be nice.’’ 

“I like brown and gold better,” said another. 

“We boys want some red in it,” piped Willie 
Seeler. 

“Boys don’t know what’s nice,” interrupted 
Fannie. 

“They do too,” retorted Willie. “I appeal to 
the class. Besides, I think we ought to practice 
the High School yell first.” 

The class was not listening. It had separated 
into little groups. Bach group seemed to be dis- 
cussing preferences in colors. No one appeared to 
remember that a meeting of the class was being 
held. 

The busy hum of their voices was interrupted 
by Tom’s manly tones. He was saying, “Miss 
Helen Doner has the floor.” 

The mention of Helen Doner’s name at once 
drew the attention of the class to her. One could 
observe at a glance that her schoolmates had 
learned to respect her. When Tom had spoken, 
all eyes were turned to a seat at one side of the 
room, a little in the rear. Two girls sat there 
who had as yet taken no solo parts in the discus- 
sions. In some respects they appeared much alike. 


12 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


They had the same gentle brown eyes, eyes that 
gave promise of flashing fire enough when occasion 
demanded; they had the same soft, pale-brown 
hair with golden glint, the same fair complexions, 
the same high-arched foreheads, the same intelli- 
gent and noble-principled expressions. There was 
with each the same neatness of dress and toilet, 
the same quietness of demeanor. But one of these 
girls was stronger in build than the other, and 
her face betokened more of boldness and self- 
reliance, while that of her companion indicated 
more of sweetness and trust. Yet, both faces 
showed firmness and decision without loss of gen- 
tleness and kindness, and both of these young 
women impressed one with more than passing 
favor. The stronger of these two was Corine 
Hereford; the other, her cousin, Helen Doner. At 
Tom’s announcement Helen rose to speak. 

“Mr. Chairman,” said she, “it seems to me 
that, as interested as we all naturally are in our 
class colors and ” (with a look and a smile in Wil- 
lie’s direction) “in our High School yell, there are 
a few more important things to think of before 
those. Would it not be better if w^e would first of 
all lay down some principles according to which 
we, as a class, resolve to live ? I mean principles 
that will keep before us our duties as a class of 


THE CLASS OF ’8l, R. H. S. 13 

this school and as members of this class. Not 
that we should expect to do the things that would 
be resolved simply because we have pledged our- 
selves to them, but because they are the right and 
our duty — things that we ought to do at any rate 
without making special resolutions, but of which a 
pledge will remind us, and which it will keep 
clearly before us, so that mistakes and errors will 
be less likely to occur. Then, in addition to these 
principles, we should have some rules to govern 
us as an organization. After these matters are 
arranged we certainly all will agree that the others 
mentioned must not be forgotten.’’ 

Helen’s wisdom was in advance of her fifteen 
years, and in advance of the learning of the greater 
number of her classmates. They were, almost all 
of them, bright scholars, but Helen’s parents had 
given her a very sensible training at home in addi- 
tion to that which she received at school. Es- 
pecially in regard to her reading had her father 
been careful, not merely insisting that only sound 
and wholesome literature be admitted to her 
library, but helping her to become interested in 
books and articles which to the average young 
person seem too “ dry ” for perusal. 

Helen’s remarks were received by the chair in 
respectful silence. Presently Tom spoke up: 


14 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“The Chair would be pleased to have Miss 
Hereford’s opinion on this suggestion.” 

“Mr. Chairman,” Corine responded, “I fully 
agree with what Helen has said, and I move that 
a committee be appointed to frame a set of resolu- 
tions declaring our principles, and also to draft 
articles and by-laws which shall govern us as a 
class organization.” 

Corine was her cousin Helen’s cbum, one year 
her senior. Their parents were not only relatives 
but also close friends. The girls had received the 
same training, with one exception. What this 
exception was will soon become apparent. 

Corine’s motion received hearty support and was 
unanimously adopted. 

“Who shall comprise the committee?” asked 
Tom. 

“ Helen and Corine, of course,” declared several 
girls. 

“Correct!” said big Jim Stevens. 

“No vote will be necessary,” stated the Chair. 
“The Misses Doner and Hereford are hereby ap- 
pointed as such committee. When shall we meet 
to receive the committee’s report?” 

“ To-day is Friday— I would suggest next Tues- 
day afternoon, after school hours,” said Helen. 

“Mr. President,” said Jim, “I move you that 


THE CLASS OF ’8l, R. H. S. 15 

this meeting stand adjourned until next Tuesday 
afternoon at 4:15 p. m. sharp.’’ 

“Is the motion supported?” asked the Chair. 

“Yes,” came from several voices. 

“All favoring the motion will signify by voting 
‘aye’ — all ‘ayes.’ We stand adjourned,” ruled 
the Chair. 

And the class of ’81, R. H. S., fourteen strong, 
passed out into the corridor, each member free 
from care, and happy in the cheerfulness of youth, 
yet strangely affected by the new dignity and re- 
sponsibility which seemed to have come upon 
them, especially since Helen Doner’s earnest 
speech. 


CHAPTER IL 


THE COMMITTEE. 

Helen and Corine, although close friends, were 
not exactly near neighbors. Their homes were at 
least a mile apart, and both almost two miles from 
the High School building. For about half of this 
distance the girls could keep each other company; 
then their ways parted. It was an unheard-of 
thing for either one of them to go home from school 
without the company of the other for that part of 
the distance which they could travel together. As 
they were going home after this first meeting of 
their class, they very naturally discussed plans in 
regard to their work as committee to present the 
resolutions expected at the next meeting. 

‘‘ Let me see,” said Helen, “ to-morrow is Satur- 
day. I will be helping mamma all forenoon, and 
in the afternoon there is my practice and music 
lesson. Then comes Sunday — suppose you go 
home with me after school Monday evening, 
Corine, and stay for tea. After we have finished 
our work, papa and I can take you home, or, better 

(i6) 


THE COMMITTEE. 1 7 

yet, you can stay with me over night, and go to 
school from our house with me in the morning.’^ 

‘‘All right. I’ll ask mamma,” said Corine. 
“Don’t you think it would be a good plan if we 
would both write down points as they occur to us 
between this and Monday evening, so that when we 
get at work we will be prepared to finish sooner 
and do our work more thoroughly ?” 

“What a practical head you have, Corine,” 
smiled Helen. “ You always do think of the right 
thing to do. I wish I had half the go-ahead spirit 
that you have.” 

“Nonsense, Helen,” protested Corine; “you 
know everybody is always saying what a sensible 
girl you are. By the way, I have the best ‘ trade- 
last ’ for you.” 

“Have you? Let me think. Oh, yes! Pro- 
fessor Raines told mamma that you played your 
Barcarole and Scherzo so well at the last rehearsal 
that he is confident you will have a splendid success 
at the recital next week. Now what’s mine ?” 

“Why,” said Corine, with evident pleasure, 
“ that was surely kind of Professor Raines; he is so 
sparing of his compliments. But yours is a still 
better one, Nellie, at least you will think so.” 
(Corine was the only person who ever nicknamed 
Helen.) “I heard Superintendent Scranton tell 


2 


l8 HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 

your papa that be wished all women w^ere as 
womanly as you are. He said if they were he 
would have no fears for the country’s future. What 
do you think of that?” 

“Corine, you mustn’t listen when people say 
such untrue things about me.” Helen blushed 
deeply, and it was not entirely a blush of embar- 
rassment. She was truly pleased, for she consid- 
ered the compliment, especially as it came from 
Mr. Scranton, a very high one, and she knew that 
papa was pleased, and she could see that Corine 
was, too. There was no selfishness in this dear 
cousin, her dearest friend. 

With a kiss and a smile, these two High School 
girls parted. As each went her way homeward 
alone, her thoughts were on the work in the hands 
of the committee; but, strangely enough, Helen 
was planning the guiding principles, while Corine 
was mapping out the Constitution and By-Laws. 

They met again on Sunday morning at Sunday- 
school. Helen’s parents were staunch members of 
old St. Luke’s Lutheran congregation. Helen’s 
interest in the church, its faith and its work, was as 
great as that of her parents. Pastor Denton felt 
himself almost as much at home at the Doners’ as 
in his own comfortable parsonage. 

There are in almost every congregation five or 


THE COMMITTEE. 


19 


six families on whom the pastor can fully depend 
for support and active encouragement in all his 
undertakings for the up-building of Christ’s king- 
dom. The Doners were eminently one of these 
families. When the project of building the new 
$30,000 church had first been broached four years 
before, the congregation, almost to a man, had 
stood aghast. But the project had been carried out, 
and now St. Luke’s had no debts. Mr. Doner 
always declared that the building could not have 
been done under any other pastor’s leadership, but 
Pastor Denton always insisted that if the Lord had 
not placed Deacon Doner in St. Luke’s, the con- 
gregation would still be worshiping in the old 
church on the side street, instead of in the beautiful 
house on the finest church site in town. 

The pastor and the deacon were close friends, 
“almost like brothers,” Mrs. Doner would say to 
Mrs. Denton. They had not known each other 
until six years before, when they had met at a con- 
vention of Synod, which the deacon had attended 
as a lay delegate. Rev. Denton had filled the pul- 
pit at the first evening service of the convention, 
and had made a very strong impression on Mr. 
Doner by his evident sincerity, his magnetic ani- 
mation, and the soundness of his discourse. Mr. 
Doner was happy to find, after the service, that he 


20 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


and the Reverend were to be room-mates at the 
hotel. During their companionship there he 
learned that the pastor was as fine a man as he was 
a preacher. When, six months later, a vacancy 
occurred at St. Luke’s in Riverton, a call was 
promptly sent to the Rev. Denton, on the advice of 
Mr. Doner. Never was man more highly pleased 
than was the deacon when he returned home one 
spring evening from a special meeting of the 
church council, and reported to his family that the 
call had been accepted, and that the new pastor 
would be with them at the beginning of the next 
month. 

“Now, mamma,” said he, as joyous as a boy, 
“it will take the pastor’s at least two weeks to get 
settled, and for those two weeks they shall be our 
guests.” And so they were, except that the two 
weeks became three, as the pastor’s goods were de- 
layed in transit. But even at the end of the three 
weeks every one of the Doners was sorry to see 
them leave, and the Dentons declared that they 
wished their goods had been delayed longer. 

After that the Dentons and the Doners saw each 
other almost every day. In their case familiarity 
did not breed contempt. 

Helen was charmed with them all, the pastor, his 
wife, Harry, five years old, and Timothy, three 


THE COMMITTEE. 


21 


years younger. She and Mrs. Denton often drove 
out together. A better companion for a young girl 
could not have been imagined. The boys adored 
Helen, and Harry, who was now ten, would have 
laid down his life for her. The pastor himself was 
Helen’s especial favorite in this family of four. He 
took so deep an interest in all her work and plans, 
and she so much admired his earnest Christian 
character. No one as well as he could explain the 
difficulties she met in the study of her Bible; no 
one knew so well how to make glorious in her eyes 
the grand old doctrines of the Word as confessed by 
her church. Often she read to him, or helped him 
with his type-writing. Papa Doner thanked God 
daily that the lines were fallen unto his daughter 
in such pleasant places. Indeed, what with her 
splendid home training and the influence of her as- 
sociation with this excellent pastor’s family, her 
nature was unfolding into the sweetest, loveliest 
bloom. 

A little over three years after the Dentons’ com- 
ing, baby Beatrice had arrived to make the parson- 
ao-e home-circle still more attractive, and that to no 

o ' 

one more than to Helen. For her a visit to the 
parsonage had grown to be a positive delight, 
almost like going to her own dear home. Yet 
there was one house to which she went with still 


22 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


greater pleasure than either to her home or to the 
pastor’s. This was her dear church-home, dear St. 
Luke’s. 

It was here that we had found Helen with Corine 
on the Sunday morning following this class meet- 
ing. Corine always attended Sunday-school with 
Helen, although neither she nor her parents were 
members of the church. She herself often told 
people: “ I do not profess to be a Christian.” Her 
mother, Frank Doner’s sister, had been confirmed 
with him. But she had lost interest in the church 
after her marriage to Joseph Hereford. Although 
she sometimes attended the evening services, her 
church membership otherwise had practically 
ceased. As for Mr. Hereford, he had never joined 
any church. Although not a scoffer, he was not a 
Christian. 

The Herefords became good friends of the new 
pastor’s family soon after his arrival. It could 
not well have been otherwise, as both these 
families were so intimately associated with the 
Doners. The pastor had endeavored to awaken in 
the Herefords a love for Christ and the church, but 
it soon became apparent to him that beneath the 
polite attention with which his words were re- 
ceived there was a distinct coldness of heart to- 
ward the Savior. He did not urge the matter, 


THE COMMITTEE. 


23 


knowing full well that “God moves in a mys- 
terious way His wonders to perform,” and remem- 
bering that God’s Word works as does a leaven, 
slowly but thoroughly, and generally best when 
left to work without human aid or intervention. 

In this the pastor resembled the deacon. Mr. 
Doner had brought many souls into the fold of the 
church, but always in a quiet way, using few 
words and giving God’s Spirit time to perform the 
saving work of conversion. St. Luke’s was all the 
better established by reason of this method. There 
were not long lists of members who had been sur- 
prised and cajoled into making a confession of 
faith. Those who joined did so from their heart’s 
choice, and this choice had been implanted and 
deliberately matured by God; it was not the out- 
burst of nervous excitement or momentary en- 
thusiasm. 

It will be noticed that Corine could receive no 
religious training at home. The absence of Chris- 
tian faith from her heart was what caused that 
difference between her and her cousin Helen, a 
difference so difficult to describe, and, at the same 
time, so difficult to overlook. Corine’s attendance 
at Sunday-school was not calculated to supply the 
want. While Helen attended as a devout believer, 
Corine attended merely as Helen’s companion. 


24 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


After Sunday-school, as the two cousins were 
leaving the room, Helen asked: “Will you stay for 
the service this morning?” 

“Not to-day, Nellie,” was Corine’s answer. 
“Papa has set his heart on driving out to Uncle 
Charlie’s, and he insists on our going with him. 
Perhaps I can stay next Sunday.” 

“Then you will not be here for the evening 
sermon ?” 

“ I hardly think so. It will be very near church- 
time when we return from the country, and I know 
we will be tired with the long drive. Good-bye, 
Nellie; I must not keep papa waiting.” 

“Good-bye. I hope you’ll have a pleasant 
time.” But in her heart Helen could not under- 
stand how people could neglect God’s house on 
Sundays and, at the same time, have a pleasant 
Sunday. 

This was her one great sadness, that her dear 
cousin and her uncle and aunt cared so little for 
the church. She had spoken to Pastor Denton 
about it. He had reassured her that God’s re- 
sources were not so easily exhausted, and that her 
prayers for them might yet be answered. 

The sermon that day served to lead Helen into a 
train of deep thought. Especially did one expres- 
sion that the pastor used have this effect. “Do 


THE COMMITTEE. 


25 


not be discouraged,” he said, ‘‘ by repeated failures 
in a good undertaking. Things are not always 
what they seem. Your endeavors that have 
seemed vain may require but one more rally to 
make them victorious. Barriers that seem to you 
not to have been shaken an inch, may yet be 
ready to totter and fall at one more word, yes, per- 
haps even at one more simple look. How the 
Tord had labored and prayed that Peter’s soul 
might be established. And yet, as He sat before 
the high priest’s court, Peter was without, deny- 
ing Him with oaths and curses. The Tord’s 
labor seemed all in vain. Nevertheless we read 
that just at that moment the Lord turned and 
looked upon Peter, and Peter went out and wept 
bitterly. In that flood of repentant tears was 
swept away the last barrier that separated Peter 
from that firmness and fortitude that made his 
faith forever after impregnable as a fortress, ag- 
gressive as a host of armed men.” 

These words were still sounding in Helen’s ears 
when the pastor was making his announcements. 
Among other things, he announced that in the 
week following, the instruction of that year’s cate- 
chumens would begin. Helen resolved that she 
would try for Corine’s soul once more. Here was an 
opportunity. She would ask her to join the class. 


26 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


She was glad, next day, when she met her 
cousin on the way to school, that Corine’s first 
words told her that “Mamma says I may go home 
with you this evening and stay till tomorrow;” 
because, with the morning, she had only strength- 
ened her resolve to ask Corine to join the class. 
It needed strength of resolve, for Helen’s nature 
was not such as to enable her to ask a delicate 
thing more than once. From her previous efforts 
at discussing the topic of Corine’s salvation with 
her, she knew that the subject she intended to 
broach would be a delicate one. Corine would not 
discuss it with her long; Corine had such a matter- 
of-fact way of closing the conversation on any sub- 
ject not agreeable to her. Besides, Helen could 
not argue it long herself. So she continued to 
fortify herself with frequent thoughts of the pre- 
vious morning’s sermon, and was continually won- 
dering what would be the most propitious time 
and the most promising way to introduce the 
subject. 

The opportunity came soon after school hours in 
the afternoon. They were walking home together, 
Corine, Fannie Drew, and Helen. Fannie, for 
once, was in a sober, meditative mood. She had 
been at church with Helen the evening before. 
Perhaps she did not intend that the conversation 


THK COMMITTEE. 27 

should become quite so serious as it did, for she 
started it by saying only: 

“What a lovely preacher Mr. Denton is, Helen, 
and what a grand sermon he preached last night.” 

Helen’s eyes glistened with pleasure. She de- 
lighted to hear her pastor appreciated. 

“ What was it about?” inquired Corine. 

That opened the way for a girls’ discussion of 
the sermon, that would have rejoiced the heart of 
the Reverend Denton himself, had he been near to 
hear it. 

When Fannie left the cousins, they were both in 
an earnest mood. What happier time could our 
young missionary select for her important work ? 

‘‘Corine,” she ventured, half shyly, “there was 
something else that the pastor said yesterday that 
I want to tell you. He announced that catechet- 
ical instructions would begin next week. You 
know that I am to be confirmed this year; I want 
you to join the class, and to see whether you can- 
not come to the conclusion that it is for your good 
to join the church and to believe in Christ fully. 
Will you?” 

Corine did not answer at once. When she did, 
she asked: “When will the confirmation be?” 

“Next spring, at Whitsunday, I think,” said 
Helen. 


28 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Will you be instructed and confirmed with the 
class, Helen?’’ 

“Why, of course I will, Corine. What makes 
you ask that?” 

“ Well, just this. I heard several of the girls of 
the B-Gramniar class telling, this morning, that 
they are to be confirmed next spring. Why, 
Nellie, they were mere children. I don’t believe 
they will be older than thirteen in the spring. 
Now don’t you think it will look a little bit queer 
for you, a High School girl, to go into a class with 
them ? I am sure I should not like it for myself, 
and you are only a year younger than I am.” 

“But we are not grown-ups yet, are we?” asked 
Helen, with an amused smile. 

“No, but we’re not infants either, exactly. Say, 
Nellie, why weren’t you confirmed younger? You 
could have passed the examination two years ago, 
or even before that.” 

“Well, Corine, it’s this way: I have been at- 
tending the instructions for three years already, but 
papa thought it unwise to have me confirmed so 
young. He thinks the same about other children. 
Reverend Denton is of exactly the same mind. Of 
course there are circumstances in some families 
that make it almost necessary to have the children 
confirmed at an early age. Their parents, being 


THE COMMITTEE. 


29 


poor, need the help of the children, and want them 
confirmed before they leave school and go out to 
work. I have heard Reverend Denton say that, 
although he thinks it is better to have us wait for 
confirmation until we are fifteen or sixteen, yet 
there is no reason for doubting that the Holy Spirit 
can make Himself understood to the heart of a 
child but thirteen years old, and that the children 
confirmed at that age do not for that reason neces- 
sarily partake of the sacrament unworthily. Be- 
sides, it seems there are many cases where, if chil- 
dren are not confirmed at thirteen, they will not be 
confirmed at all; and, although our church does 
not teach that confirmation is necessary to salva- 
tion, still this rite means so much, that our pastors 
hesitate to refuse to confirm children when they 
have to decide between confirmation at an early 
age and no confirmation at all. I, for one, will not 
feel myself disgraced to stand at the altar with 
children who, by force of circumstances, are sent 
there younger than I am, and who, perhaps, are 
better children of God than I. Corine, this is no 
reason why you should not join our class. You 
know very well that Reverend Denton would be 
willing to confirm you separately, or at home if you 
preferred. You must have some other objection.” 

Helen had spoken so earnestly, and now, at the 


30 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


close ot her little sermon, she looked up into 
Corine’s face with eyes so appealing that certainly 
her cousin must yield. But she did not yield. 
She spoke very gently, however. 

“Well, Helen, you are both right and wTong. 
It did indeed seem, and still seems to me, very un- 
desirable to be confirmed with so mixed a class. 
But that was not my only reason. Do you know, 
I am afraid I do not agree with all that the Bible 
teaches? I respect the Bible highly, and for that 
very reason I do not like to become too well ac- 
quainted with it, as I fear I would lose some of 
this respect. Let me mention just one thing. You 
know how much mamma and I are together. Well, 
mamma is a member of several women’s unions, 
the ‘Reform League’ and the ‘Twentieth Cen- 
tury Association.’ In addition, she reads a great 
deal. She has a habit of talking with me about 
the topics they discuss at their meetings and those 
about which she reads. Mamma and I agree on all 
points. Of course, it is not she that agrees with 
me, but I with her. The other evening we called 
at the parsonage, and in some unfortunate way 
mamma and Reverend Denton got into a discus- 
sion on woman’s rights. Mrs. Denton and I did 
nothing but sit there and listen and fidget. Now, 
from the way the pastor quoted the Bible in sup- 


THE COMMITTEE. 31 

port of his assertions, I know that I do not agree 
with it. But say, Nellie, let’s talk about some- 
thing else, will you ? And you will not be mad at 
me, sweetheart ? ’ ’ 

How could Helen be angry? She was very 
much grieved, it is true. But the words of that 
precious sermon recurred to her. It seemed to her 
that Corine’s defense of her position was much 
weaker than it had been on former occasions. It 
was gentler, she knew, and less impatient and 
testy. Was the pastor a prophet ? Were the bar- 
riers beginning to totter? Would they soon fall? 
Helen hoped so, and she would wait. But oh! 
how often hope must wait days and days, and 
years and years, for that for which the heart is 
breaking. 

Papa Doner laughed at the two little legislators, 
as he called them, when they told him of their 
work and settled down after tea in his library to 
frame their articles. But when, after half an 
hour, they called him to help them, no one was 
happier than he. 

Corine loved him so much, this dear Uncle 
Frank. And when she and Helen had gone to 
bed that night and had settled down to sleep after 
the long chat that girls must always have before 
slumber will come, Corine was wondering. She 


32 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


was wondering what the strange difference was 
that made her love Helen’s father almost better 
than her own, and she wondered still further 
whether the difference came because her uncle was 
a Christian and a zealous church-member, while 
her father was neither. She fell asleep still won- 
dering, but her wonder did not fall asleep, not for 
many days. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE committee’s report. 

The two girls had agreed that Corine should 
present the business rules to the class, while Helen 
was to read the “ law,” as Corine playfully called 
it. “You can defend that part a great deal better 
than I can if there should be any debate,” she had 
told Helen; and Helen for her part was glad enough 
to leave the business matters to Corine. 

The meeting was not long in coming to order. 
The temporary officers were punctual and prompt, 
and it was only a few minutes after the “ 4:15 p. m. 
sharp” of Jim Stevens’ clock-work resolution, 
when the minutes of the previous meeting had 
already been read and approved, and Tom was 
calling for the report of the committee. 

“Mr. Chairman,” responded Corine, “the com- 
mittee has divided its work according to the sub- 
ject matter in hand, and wishes to present two re- 
ports. Helen’s report deals with our class ethics, 
and mine with our class business.” 

“Good,” remarked the Chair. “Which report 
shall we consider first ?’ ’ 

3 (33) 


34 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Helen’s, Helen’s!” came from different parts 
of the room. 

“It seems that the other report is really more 
necessary,” observed Tom significantly. “I must 
insist on better order. Mr. Stevens, the Chair 
recognizes you.” 

“Gracious! What alarming airs our president 
puts on !” Fannie was heard to whisper across the 
desk to the other girls. 

“Mr. Chairman,” said the ponderous Jim, “I 
move that that part of the report which is in the 
hands of Miss Doner be now received.” 

The motion was put and carried. Helen rose to 
read her part. It ran as follows; 

“We, the class of i88i, Riverton High School, 
do herewith pledge ourselves for our three years of 
High School life to observe strictly and conscien- 
tiously the following principles, believing that by 
so doing we shall lighten the burdens of our be- 
loved instructors, benefit ourselves, and gain the 
greater esteem of our friends and school-mates. 

“We promise: 

“ist. To be diligent in study, prompt in school 
attendance, attentive at recitations; 

“ 2 d. Always, in school hours and at other times, 
to be respectful and obedient to our teachers and 
other superiors, and polite to our fellow students ; 


the: committee:’ s report. 


35 


“ 3d. To observe a ladylike aud gentlemanly de- 
corum while going to school and while returning 
home from school; 

“4th. To strive to be a credit to our school in 
everything; 

“5th. To foster a proper and legitimate class 
spirit, but without in any manner encouraging a 
hateful spirit toward other classes; 

“ 6th. To encourage each other in our work, and 
not to show any distinction in our treatment of 
each other because we are not all equally gifted; 

“7th. Neither to practice nor to tolerate any un- 
fair methods in gaining advantages in standing; 

“8th. To admonish, in a spirit of entire kindness, 
those who happen to be violating these pledges; 

“9th. To observe the spirit, and not only the 
letter, of the principles here laid down; 

“ loth. To live up to these rules not simply be- 
cause we have pledged ourselves, but because it is 
our duty to live thus.” 

“I would suggest,” modestly added Helen, 
“that these paragraphs be considered one by one, 
so that they may be discussed and amended where 
necessary.” 

“As if they needed any amending, or could get 
any from us blockheads,” came from impulsive 
Fannie. Then, recollecting herself as Tom was 


36 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

preparing to call “order” again, she continued: 
“Mr. President, I move you that we adopt these 
principles heart and soul, shoes and shoestrings, 
just as read, without any alterations or amend- 
ments at all, sink or swim, live or die, survive or 
perish, B Pluribus Unum!” 

The class had heard samples of Fannie’s oratory 
before this, and had often laughed at her extrava- 
gance. But this time they were all as enthusiastic 
as she was, and, after asking Helen to read her re- 
port again, a little more slowly than she had read 
it the other time, her paragraphs were adopted 
with a vigor and a decision that promised much 
for the future morality and greatness of the class. 

Corine’s report was then read, and received and 
adopted with just as much favor, although, natur- 
ally, with less enthusiasm. When presented 
aright, matters of right and wrong, of duty and 
principle, generally appeal to the interest of man- 
kind more strongly than matters of mere technical 
order and business routine. How happy this 
world would be if the same could be said of re- 
ligious matters other than morals, matters of faith 
and the soul’s salvation. 

Corine’s Constitution and By-Baws called for the 
election of officers by ballot. This election was 
next attended to. A permanent chairman was to 


THE committee’s REPORT. 37 

be elected first. The result of the ballot was: 
Tom Green, five votes; Fannie Drew, five votes; 
Corine Hereford, four votes. As eight votes were 
necessary for a choice, a second ballot was ordered. 
It resulted, Tom, seven votes; Fannie, two, and 
Corine, five. The third ballot was decisive, Tom 
receiving nine votes, Fannie, two, and Corine, 
three. 

Quite an excitement had developed during the 
progress of this balloting, but each of the remain- 
ing elections was decided by one ballot. Fannie 
was elected vice-president, Corine, recording sec- 
retary, Milda Trapp, corresponding secretary, and 
Jim Stevens, treasurer. An executive committee 
was chosen, consisting of the president and two 
other members, Helen Doner and John Perkins. 

Perhaps it will be best if I here and now tell you 
more about the two members whom we have not 
mentioned before, but whom the class election has 
introduced. Milda was one of those exact girls 
who always insist that things must be just so. 
Perhaps her German blood had a hand in deciding 
this characteristic. At any rate, she often disputed 
with her classmates about the veriest trifles, but it 
must be acknowledged that she was generally in 
the right about them. She was as neat as a pin, 
and her penmanship was something marvelous. 


38 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


No one had ever known her to break a promise or 
to forget an engagement. The class did wisely 
when they selected her as their corresponding 
secretary. 

John Perkins was one of those determined and 
enterprising young fellows whom it is so genuine 
a pleasure to meet; one of the kind we so often 
meet in books, but whose existence in real life we 
are inclined to consider doubtful. This John was 
not, perhaps, so wonderful a boy as the noble intel- 
ligent specimens found in the books; but he was a 
real, live, flesh-and-blood boy, and I, for my part, 
always thought him knowing and prudent above 
the average. 

John’s father had been a poor market-gardener. 
He had had excellent success in his garden, and 
moderate success in his finances. But there had 
always been so much sickness in the family that it 
was up-hill work to lay anything by for a rainy day. 

In spite of his poverty, Jonathan Perkins knew 
that the value of a good education was above that 
of gold and silver. For this reason he sent his 
children regularly to school, when he might have 
used them in the gardens. 

One evening in the autumn, as this industrious 
gardener was returning to his home from the city, 
he stepped out of his wagon to adjust a part of the 


THE committee’s REPORT. 39 

harness that had become disarranged. While he 
was engaged thus, a vicious dog came barking from 
a near-by yard and assailed him, leaving him with 
an ugly wound in the fore-arm. The family were 
not at first seriously alarmed, but blood poisoning 
set in, and they were suddenly left fatherless and 
helpless. 

Jonathan Perkins did not leave his family pos- 
sessed of much earthly treasure. However, he did 
not leave them burdened with debt either. The 
house and the four acres of garden had been paid 
for, as had also the horse and the wagon. Never- 
theless, the question that came to the family was a 
very anxious one: what to do, not simply to remain 
alive and well, but also to continue the children at 
school. John was at this time almost sixteen, and 
had just entered the A-Grammar. His parents had 
had great hopes of sending him through the High 
School. There were three other boys, one eleven, 
and the twins aged nine. The smaller children 
were girls. 

John’s mother naturally looked to him to find 
some way out of the difficult position into which 
they had been placed by Mr. Perkins’ death. The 
boy’s ready wit seemed to grapple with the situa- 
tion in vain, however. But not for long. One 
evening, two weeks after his father’s death, he said: 


40 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“ Ma, I have it all fixed now. If my plan works, 
and we boys are each willing to lose one year at 
school, taking turn about, we will have enough to 
eat and wear and buy books. ’ ^ 

“Well, what is it?” asked his mother, rather 
doubtiiigly. 

“I’ll tell you,” said John. “This evening, as 1 
was coming home past Simpson’s dry goods store, 
Mr. Simpson was standing out in front as if he 
were looking for somebody. I kind o’ stopped, 
and he looked at me as if he didn’t know what to 
say, and then he said it. He wanted me to take a 
roll of oil-cloth up to the Johnsons. I told him I 
would, and as I started away he gave me a quarter. 
That set me thinking on a new track. There are 
lots of stores in town that haven’t enough deliver- 
ing to do to pay them to keep a horse and wagon 
and delivery boy, but have too much delivering to 
have it done by the messenger boys and draymen. 
It costs a great deal that way; besides, the draymen 
and boys are not always in sight. Why, actually, 
I’ve seen that big, important-looking Mr. Simpson 
carrying big rolls of carpet along the street him- 
self. I guess he couldn’t find anybody to do it for 
him. Well, you see, we have the express wagon 
and Prince, and we hate to part with them. Now 
I intend to see as many of the storekeepers as I 


THE committee’s REPORT. 4 1 

can and try to make contracts with them by the 
year to do their delivering. I can stay out of 
school this year to get the business started. Next 
year Paul can take it — you know I can help him 
mornings and evenings, before and after school 
hours — and the next year one of the twins can 
drop school, and the year after that the other can. 
I will go to night school and can keep up my 
studies pretty well, and maybe I can skip the 
A-Grammar grade and go into High School with 
my class anyhow by passing the test examination. 
I’m going to try it. You know pa always said 
that God helps those that help themselves, and 
you know how Mr. Denton always preaches about 
God’s help in troubles. I shouldn’t wonder but 
God put this idea right straight into my head. 
I’ve been praying awful hard since pa died.” 

The widow’s eyes were filled with tears. She 
wished she could have as much faith as her boy 
had, but she had her doubts about his plan. Nev- 
ertheless, she put on a cheerful air and said: 

“Well, that is a good plan, and I do hope it will 
work well.” 

“Work well ? ” exclaimed John, getting excited 
and walking up and down the room. “Why ma, 
we’ll get rich on it. hook here. I’ll charge the 
dry goods men three dollars a month, and the 


42 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


china stores two, and the clothing men two, and 
the shoe stores two, and the milliners a dollar, and 
the grocers — I’ll charge them at least ten dollars a 
month.” 

“Why, the grocers all have delivery wagons,” 
interrupted his mother. 

“That’s so,” said John, “but I’ll get enough 
just the same. Then, you see, we can raise enough 
on the place here to live on, and we can get a good 
many berries out of the patch to sell. Why, it’s 
going to be great. I just wish pa could be here 
to help plan it.” 

Again the poor woman’s eyes filled with tears. 
She arose and kissed her boy “good night,” and 
they retired. John fell asleep, making big calcu- 
lations. 

He set out early next morning, and was gone 
until noon. His presentation of the case to the 
business men was very simple. He told them that 
there would be three deliveries per day: he would 
call at the stores between seven and eight o’clock 
in the mornings, between half past twelve and half 
past one at noons, and between six and seven in 
the evenings, every day, all the year round, and 
would promptly deliver all goods that they required 
delivered. He came home that noon quite well 
satisfied. Ten merchants had made contracts with 


THE committee’s REPORT. 43 

him. The others wanted to consider the matter. 
The income from the ten would be twenty dollars 
per month. With that John started business. 

By the end of the week others had “fallen in 
line,” as Paul expressed it. There were four dry 
goods men, five shoe dealers, seven clothiers, three 
china stores, and five milliners on John’s list, at his 
own figures. He counted it up, and was surprised 
to find that he was earning at the rate of five hun- 
dred and sixty-four dollars per year. 

The plan seemed to be just what the town mer- 
chants had been waiting for. Mr. Simpson was 
so happy, he paid a half year in advance. Every- 
body wondered why nobody had ever thought of it 
before. It seemed strange, but true it was, that 
Jonathan Perkins’ sixteen-year-old boy was earn- 
ing more money than his father had ever been able 
to earn himself. Of course the work was not easy, 
but John did not care for that. He was prospering 
beyond expectation, and, besides paying all ex- 
penses as they came, the Perkinses had quite a lit- 
tle sum in the bank at the end of the year. 
People said John had luck. He did not have 
“luck.” He simply did what dozens of boys to- 
day could do if they would only trust God, use 
their wits, and recognize the opportunities their 
Heavenly Father grants them. 


44 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


John had been delivering goods for a week, when 
one evening he had a parcel for the Doners. 
Helen came to the door as he rang the bell. She 
asked him how he was “getting along.” 

“Beautifully, Helen,” said he. 

“ But what about your schooling? ” she asked. 

“Why, I’m going to the night school You 
know that’s four nights every week. On Friday 
nights I try to study up what you folks in the 
A-Grammar class have had that week. You know I 
had all my books for the A-Grammar when father 
died. Stevens shows me what your lessons have 
been for the week. I want to try to pass the ex- 
amination for High School next spring. But 
there are lots of things that are hard to get right 
without a teacher.” 

“Oh, I do hope you’ll succeed, John. How 
nice it would be to have you back again with the 
rest of us. There are only thirteen of ns left that 
will enter High School if you drop out, and yon 
know thirteen is such an unlucky number,” said 
Helen, pretending to shudder. 

“I know you don’t believe any such ‘unlucky 
number’ nonsense as that, Helen, but just the same 
I’ll try my best to make it fourteen. Good night.” 
And he hopped down the steps. 

Helen went straight to the library after John 


THE committee’s REPORT. 45 

left, and had a talk with her father. The next day 
John received a note from her by Jim Stevens, 
saying that if he would come to her home Friday 
evenings she would help him with the week’s 
school work, and her father would add his help 
when he was not too busy. Every Friday evening 
after that, except at the holidays, when there was 
so much delivering that John could not get through 
early enough, they reviewed the week’s lessons in 
the library at Mr. Doner’s. The result you all 
know, as yon have found John enrolled with the 
class of ’81 at the High School. He had passed a 
fine examination, and when it came to election, 
the class knew just exactly why they put him on 
the Executive Committee. 

Now it is almost time to return to the class. 
They are still chatting after the excitement of the 
election, Tom being too well pleased with his elec- 
tion as President to insist on order, and receiving 
congratulations with an air of satisfaction that was 
enviable. Even Fannie’s sally of “Well, Tom, 
you can be temporary chairman all the time now,” 
did not provoke him to a retort. He only beamed, 
and smiled, and was happy. 

While they are all chatting I may as well present 
the other members of the class. There were two 
more boys: Harold Lee, a farmer’s boy, who came 


46 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED.. 


ill on horseback from the country every day, and 
Rob Hoodley, whose father was the wealthiest 
man in town. The two other members of the 
class were girls: Mary Charman, whose mother 
was a seamstress, getting along quite comfortably, 
and Ada Lansen, a country girl, who boarded with 
the Charmans. The Lansens were next neighbors 
to the Tees. And now you have met them all, this 
famous Class of ’8i, R. H. S. 

It is a good thing that we have finished these 
introductions, for Tom’s voice is singing out, 
“Meeting will please come to order.” When quiet 
was restored, the discussion on the class colors was 
again taken up. The chairman had scarcely an- 
nounced the fact that this question would be con- 
sidered, when he was assailed from all sides with 
suggestions as to the most appropriate and prettiest 
colors. 

“The Secretary will read the roll,” said he, 
“and each member will answer his or her name 
with a suggestion of the colors that seem to him 
or her most suitable; after that a vote will be 
taken.” 

The action on this suggestion resulted as follows: 

Tom Green, brown and red. 

Rob Hoodley, cream and white. 

Harold Lee, bay and sorrel. 


THE committee’s REPORT. 


47 


“That don’t count, Mr. President; he’s just 
fooling,’’ broke in Fannie, whereat Harold changed 
his selection to green and gray, and Fannie thought 
he was still “fooling.” But he insisted that that 
was his selection, at which Fannie gave a comical 
groan of despair at boys’ tastes. The roll pro- 
ceeded: 

John Perkins, blue and gold. 

Willie Seeler, red and yellow. 

Jim Stevens, red and blue. 

Jane Armster, lemon and rose. 

Rose Berner, sky-blue and pink. 

Mary Charman, old rose and white, 

Helen Doner, blue and gold. 

Fannie Drew, pink and white. 

Corine Hereford, pink and garnet. 

Ada Lansen, brown and gold. 

Hilda Trapp, pink and white. 

“ Now, has any one any remarks to make on these 
suggestions before the vote is taken?” questioned 
the President. 

“Mr. Chairman,” Helen arose to say, “I want 
to state why I think John Perkins’ suggestion a 
good one. I think we should not choose our colors 
just to have something pretty and delicate, or 
something flashy and bright, but to have colors 
that will mean something. Now, in blue and 
gold, the colors are good, the combination is tasty, 


48 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


and the blue could always mean to us truth and 
faithfulness, and the gold could mean real value 
and incorruptibleiiess. Pink and gray and yellow 
and the like haven’t these instructive meanings. I 
believe John thought of this, too; because his 
choice is so different from that of the other boys.” 

John flushed with pleasure. It was not often 
that he was so appreciated; and we all know how 
delightful it is to be appreciated, especially unex- 
pectedly. 

No one else had any suggestions to make, so the 
voting began. In spite of Helen’s speech, John’s 
colors did not have smooth sailing. The boys all 
rallied to his support for Helen’s sake, but the 
girls were not inclined to give up their fancies so 
easily, and Tom insisted that there must be a 
majority of the votes cast to select the colors. 
Finally, after four votes had been taken, no decis- 
ion having been reached, the girls all seemed to 
yield by common consent. At least the vote was 
unanimous for blue and gold. 

Corine and Mary were at once sent out to get the 
necessary ribbon. In short order it was made up 
into knots and streamers, and the class adjourned, 
to go out before the world under good, true colors, 
the constancy of blue, and the intrinsic worth of 
gold. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE DONERS. 

Helen went home much pleased that evening. 
Her report had been adopted without a dissenting 
voice or even a change, and her favorite colors had 
finally triumphed. She was not a faultless girl, 
and perhaps some would have called this feeling of 
pleasure pride or vanity. It may have been that, 
but, if it was, can we blame her very much ? 

She could hardly wait until she reached home to 
tell the others of the family how well her work had 
fared at the hands of the class. Up the wide walk 
she tripped as happy as a bird. It seemed as 
though she were afraid some one else would reach 
the house before she did, and break the good news 
first. 

The home to which Helen was returning was 
one of the most beautiful, although not the grand- 
est by far, in town. The grounds were large and 
park-like, with tall trees and bushy shrubs. The 
well-kept lawn was dotted here and there with 
beds of flowers and bright-leaved foliage plants, 
4 (49) 


50 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


The house was set at a distance from the street. It 
was large and roomy, one of these old houses built 
of stone, covered with Virginia creeper. Across 
the front a wide veranda extended. The rooms of 
the house were high and stately. The interior had 
been remodeled and refurnished in such a manner 
as to make this old house quite as desirable as the 
more modern dwellings that were being erected 
with such lavish expenditure farther out the street. 

There was more wealth in Riverton than one 
would have expected in a town of its size. It will 
undoubtedly always be so. Appearances deceive. 
People in larger cities generally make more show 
than those in smaller towns, by living beyond their 
income. But the greater comfort and well-being 
will, as a rule, be found in our smaller villages. 

Mr. Doner had been offered a handsome amount 
for his property some years before the time of our 
story, by a rich manufacturer who happened to be 
delayed in Riverton several hours, and who was so 
pleased with the appearance of the town that he 
thought he might like to retire there to live. But 
Mr. Doner had refused definitely. Some weeks 
afterwards this man wrote, offering a still larger 
price, but Mr. Doner would not part with his home. 

Helen at that time was anxious to have her 
father sell the old place, and build a modern resi- 


THE DONERS. 


51 


dence. She had been so taken with the fine new 
house that Fannie Drew’s father had just then 
built. She could not see what deterred her father 
from accepting the offer that had been made him. 

“Why, papa,” she had said, “with that money 
you could buy a new lot farther out the street and 
put up a fine new house, better than this old one, 
and have some money left besides.” 

“What financiers you children are,” her father 
had answered. “But there is one thing you do not 
remember, Helen. Another house would be an 
easy thing to get, but not another home. Stone 
and brick and mortar and wood will build a house 
very readily, but there is something else necessary 
to build a home, and it takes years of time to do it. 
Money will not buy it, nor will new styles of 
architecture supply it. So we will stay here and 
be all the happier.” 

Helen said no more, but she could not see what 
the difference was between a house and a home. 
She did not then understand what a power associa- 
tions and memories have for us when we have 
grown older. She was now beginning to appreciate 
her father’s position, however, and took as much 
pride in her home as did Fannie in their grand 
new house, and was perfectly content to live there 
forever if need be. 


52 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


The Doners were quite a household, there being 
four children beside Helen. In addition Grandma 
had for eight years made her home with them. Mr. 
Doner was a firm believer in large families, and he 
always claimed that he failed to see much happi- 
ness in any one’s life unless his house were full of 
children. It was also a conceit of his that God 
was nearer with a plenty of children about. He 
firmly believed that children were a heritage of the 
Lord, and that God’s blessing rested more abund- 
antly on the home full of children than on the 
childless house. Himself one of a family of six 
children, he had been the father of seven, two that 
were born before Helen having died. Nothing 
could have made this kind-hearted, sweet-souled 
man happier than to have had all seven of his 
“babies,” as he still often called them all, about 
him. 

He was, in truth, a rare man, this Frank Doner. 
He had been born and raised on the old Doner 
farm, six miles east of Riverton. His father had 
been comfortably circumstanced, and had given 
him a good school training, had put him through 
the High School at Riverton (at that time less pre- 
tentious in its course and teaching force than now), 
and had then sent him for four years to college, 
where he had been graduated with fair honors. 


THE DONERS. 


53 


Oil Ills finishing the college course it was the in- 
tention that he should enter a theological seminary 
and prepare himself for the ministry. 

“I love the old farm/’ Squire Doner used to 
say, “and would like to have Frank running it 
after my day is over; but the Ford needs men in 
His harvest, and no one seems willing to furnish 
them. Our rich people care more for money than 
for God’s cause, and our poor people cannot afford 
the necessary education. So I shall try to make a 
parson of my boy. Maria, she agrees with me, 
and Frank can keep his share of the old farm for a 
place to spend his summer vacations, provided he 
gets any,” and the old farmer would end with a 
merry twinkle in his eyes and a broad chuckle in 
his hearty voice. 

But his plans did not carry. While Frank was 
spending that summer after his graduation at the 
old homestead, his father suffered a severe sun- 
stroke one afternoon in the harvest field. Frank 
at once “pitched in” and managed the crops dur- 
ing his father’s illness. This illness did not last 
long. Squire Doner recovered consciousness, then 
he lingered about in a weak and helpless condition 
for four weeks, when he gently fell asleep. 

On his father’s death Frank thought it necessary 
to change all his plans. He decided to manage 


54 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


the farm for his mother and the girls. This was 
no easy task, as the farm contained six hundred 
and forty acres. 

A year after the father’s death there was a 
double wedding in the old farm-house, two of the 
girls marrying and leaving the old homestead. 
After this the farm was divided into six shares, 
one for each of the children, Mrs. Doner declaring 
that she needed nothing, as she knew her girls 
and her boy would take care of her. Several well- 
meaning, all-knowing neighborhood gossips en- 
deavored to dissuade her from her purpose. But 
she refused to discuss the matter with them at all. 

Frank stayed on the farm and worked his own 
land and that belonging to the three girls who 
were still at home. A year later he married, and 
the girls, with their mother, removed to Riverton, 
where they took a pleasant cottage, Lena having 
accepted a temporary position in the schools (she 
expected to be married soon), Emma attending 
High School, and Eliza doing the housekeeping. 

Frank had met his wife at Joseph Hereford’s 
house. He and Joe had gone to college together, 
and he was naturally at Joe’s home during much 
of his vacation time. Emma Naper was visiting 
Joe’s sisters one summer, and a friendship sprang 
up between her and Frank Doner. She and Carrie 


THE DONERS. 


55 


Hereford spent a few days with Frank’s sisters. 
She was perfectly delighted with the farm. 
Frank’s parents thought they had never seen a 
sweeter girl. So, when after his graduation he 
had asked his parents’ consent to his marriage with 
Emma some time in the future, they had readily 
granted their consent together with their blessing. 

The young couple’s plans were to stay on the 
farm. They knew that the work would be too try- 
ing for Emma, but Frank had planned all that. 
“If I can keep three men to help me, why 
shouldn’t you have two or three girls to help 
you?” he said; and so they arranged it. 

The plan worked well enough for a time. The 
profits were naturally smaller as the expense was 
greater, but Frank was not one of those farmers 
who believe in building up big farms on the ruins 
of their hard-working wives. His theory was, 
“ Money is not the main thing in life. Happiness 
and health come before wealth.” And their life 
was happy, except for the fact that their two babies 
died. 

The old home seemed rather sad and cheerless 
after that. Just at that time Riverton was begin- 
ning a big boom and putting on city airs. It be- 
came very difficult to find girls who were willing 
to work in the country. So Frank and his wife 


56 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

decided to remove to town. The four shares of the 
farm that they had been managing were parceled 
into two farms, an old tenant-house that stood on 
Eliza’s land having been repaired and made habit- 
able. Into this the Eansens moved. The Lees 
were to take possession of the old homestead after 
Frank and his wife had gone to the city. But 
what would they undertake in the city? 

That was soon settled. Joe Hereford and Lena 
Doner had been married shortly before. They 
drove out to visit Frank and Emma one afternoon. 
Joe was having trouble with his partner in the dry 
goods business. He had about decided to sell out 
his interest. He and Frank talked the situation 
over seriously. The result was that they decided 
to set up a flour and feed store and try their for- 
tunes in it. It would not require an investment of 
much cash capital, and they would be the first to 
enter that business in Riverton. 

The store proved a success from the start. Both 
young men were popular and well-liked. Their 
profits were really good, and, encouraged thereby, 
they pushed their business forward with commend- 
able enterprise. Five years later the old mill in 
the rear of their store was for sale. They bought 
it, equipped it with new machinery, and were soon 
doing a lively merchant milling business. At the 


THE DONERS. 


57 


time of which we are writing the old store had be- 
come a new block, the mill had been enlarged and 
a good-sized grain elevator stood beside the mill. 
The huge letters of a sign across its front spelled 
out, “Riverton Milling and Elevator Co.’’ Frank 
was president, Joe vice-president and treasurer, and 
two others were interested as partners. Riverton 
was the natural market for an extensive and pro- 
ductive grain country. Everybody had known old 
Squire Doner, and any attempts at starting an ele- 
vator in opposition to his sons’ would have been 
useless. The boys, they were still called boys, had 
the good will of the community from the outset, 
and kept it by strict honesty and by winning and 
agreeable business methods. 

Their success had warranted Frank’s buying his 
beautiful home soon after his removal to town. 
He secured it at a low price and on terms con- 
venient to him. It had been sadly neglected and 
allowed to deteriorate. He had thoroughly re- 
paired it and had been living there now over fifteen 
years. Helen had been born there, and all the 
younger children, and it seemed more like home to 
him than the old homestead on the farm did. 
After they had lived in the house two years Frank 
— but we had better call him Mr. Doner now — had 
had the kitchen and the rear part of the house re- 


58 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


modeled, so that his wife’s housework could be 
done more conveniently. Two years before the 
date of this chapter the remaining portion of the 
house had received a thorough overhauling. So 
the Doners could not be blamed for taking a con- 
tented pride in their home. 

Mrs. Doner was one of those sweet, motherly 
women who make a good impression on you when 
you first meet them, and who strengthen this im- 
pression on every occasion on which you come into 
contact with them afterwards. She had been a 
beautiful girl, and seemed so young and pretty still 
that everybody could judge that she had a loving 
husband and a lovely home life. She was not the 
disciplinarian of the family. That office she left 
to Mr. Doner. As jolly and genial as he was, in 
matters of obedience he was very firm with his 
children. Mrs. Doner often said, “Papa, you ought 
to yield a little,” but she did not mean it, knowing 
that his firmness of character had won him her love 
and others’ esteem, and that firmness of character 
cannot rightfully be expected of children where no 
firmness of discipline has been exercised. 

Mrs. Doner was a splendid housekeeper, never 
employing more than one servant girl, excepting 
when it was absolutely necessary, and at all times 
keeping the affairs of the whole household under 


THE DONERS. 


59 


her own personal supervision. It was her custom 
to have the children learn to help her early. After 
Helen was thirteen she dispensed with servants 
entirely, except at house cleaning time. The 
washing and ironing were done by a colored laun- 
dress who lived across the river, who knew exactly 
how the “missus” wanted every piece done. She 
did it just so, too, everything being brought home 
clean and ironed neatly. 

Mrs. Doner had been a church member from her 
childhood, belonging to the denomination to which 
her husband had always belonged, and being as 
earnest and religious as he. On removing to River- 
ton she had at once become the most active 
worker at St. Duke’s. She was one of those 
happy, cheerful workers whose efforts are really a 
help to the church. She was intelligent, with a 
good education, and with more than ordinary 
powers of insight and judgment. In any under- 
taking at St. Luke’s it was always, “Oh, ask Mrs. 
Doner,” and “We’d better leave that to Mrs. 
Doner,” etc., and she bore this respect and defer- 
ence to her own ability with so charming a grace 
and unselfishness that no one disliked her or envied 
her her position. 

It is strange that in churches there are always so 
many people who do not want to take hold of the 


6o 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


work ; but when a few step forward and do lay 
hands on the work and make it “go’’, those very 
ones who would not work are at once saying, 
“H’m, see how John Smith is taking things into 
his own hands,” “Mrs. Brown acts as if she thought 
she were the head of the whole congregation,” and 
so on. Mrs. Doner’s style and nature did not 
allow of such remarks against her, and she con- 
tinued to be a blessing to the church unmolested. 

It was difficult to decide whether her children 
favored Mamma Doner more than they did their 
father, or not. The traits of both parents were 
plainly visible in all the children. We have no- 
ticed them in Helen. There was Erwin, two years 
below Helen in age, a splendid boy. “Just like his 
father,” the men all said; “Just like his mother,” 
the women corrected. Both opinions were justified. 
He was a manly, go-ahead little fellow, much like 
his father, but he also had the gentle traits of his 
mother. 

After him came Ralph, “his exact image,” 
everybody said ; and he was, only that he was three 
years younger. Next came Irma, a bright little 
girl of eight. Last of all came Chester, now only 
five years old. It was this little fellow that stood 
on the veranda as Helen came up the walk in 
such gleeful haste that evening after the meeting. 


THE DONERS. 


6l 


“ Wliat makes you run so?” lie asked. 

“Oh, I’ve had such good luck, baby,” said 
Helen. “Don’t you remember the papers Cousin 
Corine and sister were writing yesterday evening ? 
Well, the people at the school all thought they 
were just right.” 

“ Tourse they was right if you wroten ’em,” and 
Chester walked aw^ay to the end of the porch where 
his big dog Carlo lay stretched out on the rug. 

Grandma met Helen in the hall and gave her a 
kiss. Helen dearly loved old people, especially her 
grandmother Doner. Grandma had heard Helen 
tell Chester about the “papers,” and she was as 
much pleased as Helen was. She was wonderfully 
proud of Helen, this good old grandmother, and 
never tired of telling people what a fine little 
woman her grandchild was. She had been quite a 
scholar herself as a girl, and took a great interest 
in Helen’s school work. 

Helen understood what grandma meant by her 
caress. She put her arm around the old lady’s 
waist and walked toward the library with her. 

“Thank you, grandma. Do you know, though, 
that you are too proud of me?” 

“Hush, child; who wouldn’t be proud of the 
finest girl in America?” demanded this doting 
grandmother. 


62 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Oh, grandma, how can you say such things?” 
cried Helen. “Is papa at home?” 

“Yes, he came early to-day. He is waiting in 
the library. Supper is all ready. There, I forgot, 
I was going to call the children in.” She bustled 
energetically away to get Chester from the veranda 
and to call in the other three who were playing 
“camping out” in a tent down by the orchard 
fence. 

The whole family were presently gathered at the 
tea table. A beautiful picture it was, this happy 
Christian household, asking the Giver’s blessing 
on the gifts bestowed, and eating proper food with 
a relish that showed “a sound mind in a sound 
body ” for each one of them. 

Papa Doner allowed the children to talk at the 
table, wisely recognizing that it is the sociability 
of the home life that makes it attractive for the 
child, and believing that the table is as proper a 
place for sociability as any other can be. He also 
held that it is a good plan to encourage children to 
speak freely in the presence of their parents. Be- 
sides, he knew that one eats more slowly when the 
eating is interspersed with conversation, and that 
slow eating is conducive to health, and health to 
happiness. So the meal was eaten in a sensible 
manner, and body, mind, and soul were nourished. 


THE DONERS. 


63 


Before arising from the table, the family joined 
in the evening worship. Then Ralph and Irma 
“did” the dishes, while Helen and Erwin took a 
little stroll with papa in the yard. They walked 
for half an hour, then repaired to the library with 
him to look over the next day’s lessons. Mamma 
and grandma sat on the veranda with Chester until 
it grew too chilly, when they joined the others 
in-doors. 

Ralph and Irma were at a game of checkers in 
the sitting-room adjoining the library. Chester 
was soon taken to bed. Grandma stayed up stairs 
with him. Half an hour later mamma took Ralph 
and Irma to their nests; she did not send them. 
At nine Helen and Erwin said “good-night.” 
Then papa and mamma had their usual evening 
chat; “spooning” Helen called it, to tease them. 
At ten the household was in quietness and at rest. 

A simple life it seems, and uneventful. Would 
God that this world knew more such simple, un- 
eventful home lives, and fewer of these cold, heart- 
less houses, these rough evening street-corner 
games, these dazzling midnight ball-room excite- 
ments, that have meant for so many thousand 
young souls delusion, disgrace, destruction, de- 
spair, damnation. 


CHAPTER V. 


“there is a reaper.” 

“What hot, dry weather we are having for this 
time of the year,” said Helen to grandma, a few 
days later, as she reached home from school in the 
afternoon. “I wonder if it will ever rain again?” 

“Why of course it will,” grandma answered in 
her positive way. “What makes you think it will 
not, Helen? Don’t you remember the verse you 
were teaching Irma last week ? ‘ The Lord shall 

open unto thee His good treasure, the heaven to 
give the rain unto thy land in his season, and to 
bless all the work of thine hand.’ ” 

“Yes, but do you know that sometimes bothers 
me?” answered Helen. “Sometimes we need 
rain so badly and God lets everything almost burn 
up, and then again we have so much rain that 
the crops are damaged, or the seed decays in the 
ground without germinating. Papa was telling 
me that a few years ago the farmers had to plant 
their corn three separate times, because the ground 
was kept so wet by the continuous rains.” 

(64) 


65 


“there is a reaper.’* 

“My dear child,” replied grandma, “I know 
there are many people who complain about the 
weather when it does not exactly suit them, and 
some who are never satisfied. Your grandfather 
lived on the farm all his life, just where the 
weather makes the most difierence. I never heard 
him complain. I used to scold and fret awfully 
when the weather did not promise us -good crops, 
but he always put on a cheerful face, and would 
repeat that verse from Deuteronomy. By and by 
I learned the lesson he knew so well. I want to 
teach it to you children this minute ; but it will 
take years of life for you to understand it fully. 
Which of you can tell me what good weather is?” 

“Me, gramma,” asserted Chester. “It’s wen 
the sun shines, an’ I can play on my san’ pile in 
the yard.” 

“Bless his little heart,” said grandma. “But, 
Chester, if it were always sunshiny and never 
rained, how could the grass and the apples and 
the berries and things grow?” 

“ I doaii know,” said he, after a moment’s 
pause. 

“Well, Ralph, you try,” said grandma. 

“Well, it’s when we have both,” said the boy; 
“ sometimes rain and sometimes sunshine. Ain’t 
it?” 


5 


66 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Yes,’’ said grandma; “but how much rain 
and how much sunshine does that mean ? Some 
people want more rain and some want more sun. 
Let us have Helen tell us.” 

“I don’t believe I can help much,” said she. 
“It seems to me that what weather is good for one 
thing is bad for the other, and what is good for 
the other is bad for the one. And there’s some 
that doesn’t seem to be good for anything, isn’t 
there, grandma? But now, tell us what you think 
is good weather.” 

“Well, children,” said the old lady, and her 
eyes were dancing merrily, “I’ll tell you. Good 
weather is the weather that is doing the most 
people the most good. Now, Helen says some 
weather seems to do nobody any good. You must 
not forget what ‘good’ means. It means that 
which benefits or helps. The ‘ most good ’ is that 
which brings the greatest help, or helps in the 
need of most important things. To have big 
crops and nice green lawns isn’t the only thing 
that is good for us. It is sometimes much better 
for us to have a good dose of hard punishment. 
Then, what the preachers call ‘trials’ and ‘tests 
of faith ’ are also good for us. Indeed, these two 
things are generally calculated to help the soul 
more than the good crops do. As the soul is so 


6 ; 


‘‘there is a reaper.” 

much more important than the body, this kind of 
weather that shows the soul the anger and dis- 
pleasure of God is really doing the most good, and 
therefore it is, at times, the best weather. Just 
think how little we deserve, and how apt we are 
to forget to think about God at all when every- 
thing goes along to please us. If by this weather 
only one soul is brought to think of God and His 
righteous punishments and its own sinfulness, the 
hot, dry season has done an eternity of good, 
even if it causes much pain and suffering, or even 
death. I know some people say that unpleasant 
weather only hardens godless people all the more 
against God, but that isn’t true. You hear just as 
much cursing, and see just as much wickedness, 
and read of just as much crime when the weather 
is favorable to crops as when it isn’ t. As for those 
who are God’s children and love Him and believe 
in Him, they will think these things over, and 
instead of straying away from Him, they will 
come to the same conclusion as we are reaching, 
and will admire the heavenly Father’s gracious 
wisdom all the more. Well, Helen?” and the 
old lady looked at her granddaughter rather slily. 

“It does seem as though it might be that way,” 
answered Helen slowly, “and still it is a little 
difficult for me to be absolutely certain of it at 


68 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


once. I’ll promise to think it over. I must go up 
stairs now and wash my hands and get my hair 
fixed, or I’ll not be fit to be seen at the table. My 
hair just wouldn’t stay in shape to-day.” 

Old Mrs. Doner was not one of those persons who 
spoil an advantage they have scored in argument 
by pushing a point too far. She knew that Helen 
would consider the question fairly and in the light 
of the Bible. So she did not trouble herself any 
further about the final conclusion at which Helen 
would arrive. She dismissed the subject, merely 
saying to the others, “ You children had better be 
getting yourselves ready for supper too,” and went 
out on the veranda to watch for her son’s coming. 

You do not know how proud the old lady was of 
him, her only son. She did not make a “fuss” 
over him as she did over Helen. It does not seem 
to be parents’ custom to make as much of their own 
children as they do of their children’s children. 
Mrs. Doner was no exception to this rule. But no 
woman ever felt more profoundly thankful to God 
than did this dear old soul for her boy. She 
watched every detail of his success in business and 
his rise to a position of trust in the congregation 
with complete joy and gratefulness. 

Mr. Doner was always glad to find her waiting 
for him when he returned from the ofiice, and in- 


69 


“THERE IS A REAPER.” 

variably greeted her with a fond caress, no matter 
how many people might be passing on the street at 
the time. No wonder that his ways were attended 
by the blessings of One who has said, “ Honor thy 
father and thy mother, that it may be well with 
thee, and thou mayest live long on the earth.” 

The family was just gathering about the tea 
table, when hurried footsteps were heard without, 
and the door bell was given a sharp ring. Mrs. 
Doner herself went to the door. She came in 
again with a grave expression on her sweet face, 
and answered their inquiring looks by saying, “It 
was the servant girl from Mr. Brown’s across the 
way. Tlie old gentleman has been overcome by 
the heat. I will go over at once. Helen, you may 
take my place at the table.” 

“All right, mamma, I will. May I go over to 
the pastor’s after tea to take the baby out in its 
buggy a while ? I know Mrs. Denton is busy can- 
ning to-day. It will do Beatrice good to give her 
a breath of fresh air, don’t you think?” 

“Why, certainly you may go,” said mamma; 
and, getting her summer hat, for the sun was still 
in the sky, she hurried across to the neighbor’s. 

Helen found Mrs. Denton very glad to see her, 
and to have her take Beatrice out for the ride, as 
she herself was extremely tired, and Harry had gone 


70 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


out into the country with his papa to visit a sick 
parishioner. She did not like to trust Tim out with 
baby, as he was so young, only eight, and also full 
of boyish carelessness. Helen took baby a long 
ride, and the little thing enjoyed it fully. 

She was a remarkable child, little Beatrice, with 
wonderful large brown eyes and lovely golden- 
brown hair. People on the street would often turn 
to look at her again after having passed her. 
Grandma Doner always called her “ that beautiful 
child.’* She was so good, too, much sweeter than 
the babies that are commonly called good. She 
was a little over two years old now, and was learn- 
ing to talk quite freely. Helen was much amused 
at her prattle, and baby liked to talk to Helen 
almost as well as she did to her mamma and papa. 

When Helen brought her home, Mrs. Denton 
was on the lawn before the parsonage, resting after 
her canning. 

“You are looking so bad, Mrs. Denton,” said 
Helen. “You ought to have something to 
strengthen you. Shall I get you something from 
the drug-store?” 

“O no,” answered she. “It’s nothing serious; 
only that I got so tired. My girl left me yester- 
day, and I had the peaches engaged, so they had 
to be taken care of. Mr. Denton helped me as 


71 


“there is a reaper.” 

long as he could stay, but he had promised to go 
into the country, so I had to finish alone. Tim 
helped me a little. I would have kept Harry, but 
he is more of a bother than anything else when I 
get him into the kitchen. Was baby good? And 
did she enjoy her ride?” 

“O yes,” said Helen, “only I think she looks a 
little pale, don’t you?” 

“Her teeth have been bothering her so,” replied 
Mrs. Denton. “One of her eye-teeth is almost 
through now, and the other is starting to come 
down. She has been rather fretful to-day, and did 
not rest well last night. I do wish this hot dry 
spell were over.” 

“Mrs. Denton, you are sick, and I’m going to 
get you some tonic or something at Vance’s,” 
cried Helen. She was alarmed at her dear friend’s 
look — pale, and her face set in strained lines. 

“No, no,” insisted Mrs. Denton, “I am all 
right. Hush, Helen, don’t say anything to 
them;” for Mrs. Hereford and Corine were driving 
up in their phaeton. They came in and stayed 
until Pastor Denton returned from the country, 
when Corine and her mamma took Helen home. 

“ How is old Mr. Brown, mamma,” she inquired 
as she entered the house, after bidding her aunt 
and her cousin “good night.” 


72 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Oh, he is much better,” returned her mother. 
“How are the pastor’s folks?” 

“Baby seemed quite well,” said Helen; “only 
she is teething, and that seems to make her a little 
fretful, and restless at night. I suppose that is 
natural this hot weather, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, it is,” agreed her mother quietly. Helen 
thought she could distinguish tears in her mamma’s 
eyes. 

There were tears there. She was thinking of 
her two babies who had been taken away in just 
such weather, when the fields were brown and 
thirsty and the rain would not come. How she 
had loved those little ones! Even now, blessed as 
she was, she could not forget them, nor could she 
keep back her heart’s tears as she thought of those 
first treasures that the Lord had given and the 
Lord had taken away, and — yes, she had learned 
to add in sweet faith and humble submission — 
“blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

“Was Mrs. Denton feeling quite well?” con- 
tinued Mrs. Doner. Her words aroused Helen 
from a thoughtful reverie into which she had fallen. 

“Why, that is what is bothering me, mamma. 
Mrs. Denton did not look at all well. I am afraid 
she is going to have a spell of sickness. She 
claimed that it was nothing but the work — her girl 


73 


“there is a reaper.” 

left her . yesterday without a moment’s warning; 
wasn’t that shameful? She has been canning 
peaches all day, with nobody to help her except 
Mr. Denton, and he had to leave early in the after- 
noon. Why, mamma, she looked as though she 
might faint.” Helen’s face wore a look of solici- 
tude and worry that showed plainly how much she 
loved her dear pastor’s wife. 

“I’ll run over to see her in the morning,” said 
Mrs. Doner. 

She did “run over” to the parsonage next 
morning, before Helen had gone to school, return- 
inor with the good news that Mrs. Denton was feel- 
ing quite well and that baby seemed happy and 
healthy. So Helen, with a great load lifted from 
her heart, went to school, and after school with 
Corine to do a little shopping. When she reached 
home grandma met her on the walk. 

“Helen, dear,” she said, and her manner made 
Helen know that something grave had happened, 
“your mamma has just been called over to the 
parsonage. Baby Beatrice has had spasms.” 

Oh, how still Helen’s heart stood while grandma 
was telling her this; and then she could not speak 
a word. She clung to grandma, and sobbed as if 
her heart were breaking. Her grandmother let 
her cry a while, and then tried to assure her. 


74 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“ Helen, you must not think it is as bad as that. 
Why, your aunt Irena had seven spasms in thirty- 
six hours, and see what a strong woman she is to- 
day. So many children have spasms, you know, 
and they recover and get along all right.” 

A faint smile of hope stole through Helen’s tears 
as she said: “O grandma, do you think she can 
get better?” 

And grandma answered, “There is no reason to 
suppose that she shouldn’t. Now, run up to your 
room and cool your face and wash your eyes, and 
don’t forget that our prayers will help more than 
the doctor’s skill.” 

When Beatrice had fallen into spasms, Harry 
had run over to the Doners’ as fast as his feet 
would carry him. Mrs. Doner had hurried to the 
parsonage without a second’s delay, arriving there 
before the baby had recovered. The pastor and 
his wife were so much alarmed and distracted 
that they did not know what to do. Mrs. Doner 
put warm cloths at little Beatrice’s feet, and cool 
bandages about her forehead, and soon the convul- 
sions ceased and baby rested quietly on her 
mamma’s lap. 

In an hour or so she seemed to have recov- 
ered quite. Her papa took her up on his shoulder 
and carried her about the room, stopping, as he 


THERE IS A REAPER. 


75 


u 


)) 


was accustomed to do with her, to make a call 
oil each one of the pictures that hung on the 
walls. She knew them all and smiled, and, 
although she was tired and weaker than usual, 
they felt certain that she would be entirely herself 
again in the morning. 

The doctor had been there soon after baby re- 
covered from the spasm. He had told them not 
to be needlessly alarmed, and had left medicine, 
promising to step in again early next morning to 
see how his little patient had fared during the 
night. 

Meantime Harry had run up to Doners’ with the 
good news that baby was “all right now.” Helen 
felt that her prayers had been answered already, 
and was so happy. She wanted to go over to the 
pastor’s, but grandma thought she had better not 
that evening, as it would be best not to excite little 
Beatrice, but to let her have a good night’s rest. 
So Helen contented herself with waiting until 
morning. 

Mr. Doner had gone over immediately after 
supper, and at eight he and mamma returned, say- 
ing that baby had been put into bed and was sleep- 
ing sweetly. 

Next morning Helen went to the parsonage with 
rather a fearful heart, but found that Beatrice had 


76 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


rested well and showed no effects of her previous 
day’s illness other than being irritable and fretful, 
which, the doctor had said, was quite natural. 

The following day baby was the same, and the 
third day Mrs. Denton brought her up to the 
Doners’ in her little cab. She played with the 
children, and when she grew tired sat on her 
mother’s lap laughing with them. Next morning, 
however, she was strangely drowsy, and had a 
sudden weak spell, but she rallied from that again 
and fell into a sound sleep. She slept during the 
greater part of that day and of the next, but again 
the kind and attentive doctor assured them that it 
was only natural that she should want a long rest 
after her three days of nervousness and irritable- 
ness. 

After that there were several days when she 
seemed better, but not her natural self. One even- 
ing they took her out for a drive. She always 
liked to go with Prince and the buggy, but she did 
not seem to care for the ride. Then again the 
next morning she seemed much better, and Mrs. 
Denton said, “Papa, baby is better to-day; she is 
poking holes in mamma’s face;” baby having a 
habit of pushing her little forefinger into her 
mamma’s cheek. But after breakfast that morn- 
ing Beatrice had so sudden and severe a sick spell 


“there is a reaper.” 


77 


that they were all alarmed again. Mrs. Denton’s 
mother was telegraphed for, and arrived at noon 
on the following day. 

Baby had by this time sunk into a sort of stupor, 
but seemed better again when her grandma came. 
Then followed the saddest days the family had 
ever lived. Sometimes Beatrice seemed to notice 
them, but oftener they gathered around to see her 
die. 

How fervently they prayed ! Pastor Denton 
thought he had never known before what it was to 
pray. But the answer did not seem to come. 

“Papa,” Mrs. Denton would say when they 
would seek the other room for a few minutes’ rest 
from their long watching, “hasn’t God promised 
to hear when we pray?” 

“Yes,” the strong man would falter. 

“Well, why doesn’t he make baby better? I 
have prayed so earnestly.” 

Then this suffering pastor, so sadly in need of 
consolation himself, would summon all the grace 
of God that was within him, and explain to her 
and himself that God hears only those prayers that 
are spoken in faith, that is, spoken in perfect trust 
of Jesus, but also in the spirit of Jesus — in that 
spirit that said, “Nevertheless, not my will. 
Father, but Thine be done;” and that even if God 


78 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


took their baby from them, their prayers had been 
heard and answered. And then the strong spirit 
would give way, and he would lean his head upon 
his wife’s shoulder and weep, not tears of doubt 
and bitterness, but tears of inexpressible sadness, 
which in God’s sight were more precious than 
matchless pearls. 

Yes, God heareth prayer; and “behold, before 
they call I will answer, and while they are yet 
speaking I will hear.” But ah, it is sometimes 
years before we open our souls to receive the mes- 
sengers that stand without, bearing the King’s 
message. His answer to our cry. 

The Dentons often wondered afterwards what 
they would have done without the kindness of the 
Doners. Mrs. Denton would not allow Helen to 
leave her. She wanted her there day and night ; 
and Helen stayed. Mrs. Doner was there every 
day almost all the day ; and Mr. Doner left his 
office more than once to go up with a sad heart to 
comfort a heart still sadder. On him the pastor 
leaned, from him heard the sweet consolation that 
he was wont to impart to others. And these two 
men, children of the only faith that can in truth 
touch the human soul, in the somber shadows of 
this hour of trial were knit the closer to each 
other in a love “wonderful, passing the love of 


there is a reaper.” 


79 


(( 


women,” and drawn the nearer within that heav- 
enly circle that is called ‘‘the peace of God which 
passe th all understanding,” and which “shall 
keep your hearts and minds through Christ 
Jesus.” 

Corine and her mother also came to the parson- 
age quite often, and kindly offered to do anything 
in their power for the pastor’s. But, somehow, 
they felt themselves rather out of place. They 
did not seem so to the others, but they felt that 
there was some reason why they were not really 
reaching those sad hearts. They said nothing to 
each other, but often, as they drove home, Mrs. 
Hereford was thinking, “Why can’t I be like 
Emma Doner?” and Corine was thinking, “What 
is there about Helen that makes her seem so much 
better than lam?” 

Slowly those weary days dragged on, and hope 
was fast disappearing. Four days had passed since 
Beatrice had fallen into that dull stupor, that was 
not sleeping nor yet waking. That afternoon the 
doctor came in and looked at her gums again, for 
the fever had been caused directly by the slow 
eye-tooth. Hope rose in his heart, battling against 
his almost certain knowledge that she could not 
live. “Doctors do not always know,” he thought, 
“and God Almighty has done far stranger things 


8o 


HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 


than this would be.’’ If Doctor Rich had ever 
wished that a life entrusted to his care might be 
spared, it was here in Beatrice’s sickness. He had 
loved her since the gray morning when she came 
like a beam of sunshine. He had so high a regard 
for Pastor and Mrs. Denton that he would have 
given much to have been able to spare them the 
pain of losing the brightness of this sunbeam that 
was blessing their home and their lives. 

“The tooth is almost through,” he cried; and, 
at the risk of being thought unprofessional — there 
are always people standing ready to accuse a doctor 
of making mistakes, and Doctor Rich knew that 
Mrs. Picketts, a next-door neighbor who had come 
in, was one of these — he produced his surgical 
case and touched the white, stretched gum with 
the sharp edge of a knife. It parted at the lightest 
touch, and the doctor sighed as he said, “Now, if 
she could only sleep.” 

They all grew more hopeful then. Baby had 
always loved to hear her papa play and sing for 
her. Now mamma thought if anything on their 
part could soothe her to sleep, it would be papa’s 
music and papa’s voice. So the piano was opened 
and papa sang, “Softly and tenderly Jesus is 
calling,” and “Dead me gently home. Father,” 
hymns baby had heard him sing so often, herself 


“there is a reaper.” 8l 

sitting on his knee and tapping the keys with 
him. It was a touching scene, the helpless babe 
lying there so sweet and lovely, but oh, so tired 
and weary, papa trying to sing firmly and steadily, 
and the hushed group of silent watchers, touched 
by the sweetness of the music, hoping that baby’s 
eyes would close. But slumber would not come, 
and sadly Pastor Denton closed the lid of the in- 
strument. 

Hope died away once more, and the heart- 
broken watchers watched, while softly and ten- 
derly Jesus was calling, and the Father gently led 
the little wanderer home. No more of life’s toils 
for sweet Beatrice; the parting days had come, she 
would never fall upon the wayside, the Father 
held her safe forever. 

There was no wild scene of frantic, shrieking 
grief. One sob broke the stillness. “Oh, what 
has God done?” And the mother took her baby’s 
lifeless form into her lap, as though she would 
soothe it and rock it carefully to sleep. 

They left her there alone, with her babe in her 
arms; and in that hour God took her grief-stricken 
soul into His arms, and soothed her burning 
temples, and lulled her rebelling heart into the 
quiet slumber of His infinite peace. 

The funeral service was held at St. Duke’s on 

6 


82 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Sunday. ‘ ‘ All things work together for good to 
them that love God,” was the text the speaker 
had chosen. Touchingly and comfortingly he 
showed how little Beatrice’s death would in due 
season prove to have worked for good to her be- 
reaved parents, refining their hearts and minds 
“as by fire,” creating in them a truer, purer, 
more enlightened faith and trust in (iod; and how 
her death would also prove a bearer of God’s bless- 
ing to the congregation, in that the experience 
their pastor had received of the Father’s mercy in 
this sad afiliction would be felt by them in his 
future ministrations in the homes of the sick and 
dying, of the forsaken and distressed. 

Baby’s grave was not made at Riverton. In the 
quiet country church-yard near Edgewood, Mrs. 
Denton’s girlhood’s home, they laid Beatrice’s 
weary little body to rest. 

Pastor Denton absented himself from his charge 
only a week; when, in the strength of God, he re- 
turned, and quietly took up his work again. 

So the dainty blossoms fall, “the flowers that 
grow between,” gathered in by God’s reaper. But 
“ he will give them all back again ;” and will not 
heaven be all the lovelier, because our little ones 
will be with us there, those whom the Christ has 
called “ these little ones that believe on me?” 


CHAPTER VI. 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 

The winter that followed little Beatrice’s death 
was a very busy one for Helen, and a still busier 
one for John Perkins. It is true that the High 
School teachers at Riverton had not at that time 
adopted the quite appropriately named “cram- 
ming process” that is in vogue to so alarming an 
extent in our days. They did not assign enormous 
lessons to their classes, and in addition plague and 
pester them with myriads of wise trifles and 
gewgaws during the recitations. Perhaps they 
were not tempted so severely as is the teacher 
of to-day. 

Nowadays scholars are so ambitious to excel, 
and parents are so anxious to make a show of their 
children, that the teacher is compelled to shift in 
some way to satisfy the demand. Parents do not 
ask, “What kind of a musical training is my child 
receiving?” They ask, “How many pieces can 
my girl play?” They do not feel proud of any 
mind-training that their boys are getting. Their 

(83) 


84 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


great vanity is: “My boy knows a heap;” and, 
unknown to them, the word “heap” expresses it 
exactly. 

Riverton was happy in the selection of its Board 
of Education, and this Board was, as a rule, happy 
in its selection of instructors. Their idea seemed 
to be to strengthen the mind rather than to fill it ; 
to send it out well equipped for prospecting and 
mining hidden treasures, rather than to overload it 
with cheap trinkets; to lay in it a good foundation 
for independent study, rather than to bolster it up 
with other people’s beams and trusses. The re- 
sult was that even if the pupils did not have so 
much showy knowledge as some do to-day, they 
did have a great deal more of real wisdom. Besides 
this, they were not exhausted and driven into 
nervousness and weakness by the constant strain 
of over-work and worry, while on the other hand, 
they still had enough to do. 

In addition to her school work, Helen had her 
Catechism to study. Pastor Denton taught it in 
such a way as to lead his catechumens to take a 
lively interest in the doctrines of Scripture. This 
interest did not allow them to be satisfied with a 
mere learning of the text of the Catechism, but 
urged them on into studying their Bibles and the 
Church history. 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 85 

The pastor also gave them the privilege of mak- 
ing a circulating library of his books, and the 
scholars, especially the older ones, made diligent 
use of the opportunity so given them. 

It rather aggravated Corine to find Helen so in- 
terested in her approaching confirmation. 

“Who would have thought you’d ever be one of 
these old, musty theologians, Nellie,” she was 
pouting one day, when she found Helen poring 
over a History of the Reformation. “ Of course I 
always knew you were as religious as a dozen 
preachers, but I never thought you would ever be- 
come such a student as all this. Put your book 
away, and talk to me.” 

“Why, certainly, Corine; I’m so glad you’ve 
come. Where in the world have you been keeping 
yourself these days ?” 

“Oh, mamma has been taking me along to 
quite a few meetings here lately. Do you know, 
Nellie, it’s really interesting to hear them talk 
about what women could be and ought to be? I’ve 
been reading a great deal about it, too, 

“Is that the reason you have missed Sunday- 
school so often of late?” demanded Helen, inter- 
rupting her. 

“Well, maybe it is,” assented Corine; “but — 
why, Helen, what makes you look so amused?” 


86 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Oh, I was just thinking of saying that of 
course I always knew you were as far advanced 
as a dozen brand-new female agitators, but I never 
thought you would ever become such a woman’s 
rights girl as all that;” and Helen, laughing 
merrily, put her book down and pulled her cousin 
on her lap and looked archly into her eyes. 

Corine was compelled to “acknowledge the 
corn;” but she did not care much, as it was only 
Helen who had cornered her. 

“I guess you are about right,” she allowed, 
“but it’s all mamma’s fault.” 

“ Plus her daughter’s entire willingness,” added 
Helen. “But say, Corine, let’s take a little walk 
down toward the mill office to meet papa. If we 
get there too soon we can go up the river a piece 
in the Oyster and gather some hazel-nuts. What 
do you say ? I believe I really ought to get out 
into the air a little more.” 

“That will be fine, Nellie; but before I stir a 
step out of this room I want you to tell me why 
you are continually reading those dry, uninterest- 
ing books you get at the pastor’s.” 

“If you only knew how interesting they are, 
you would not only not wonder why I read them, 
but you would be reading them yourself. You 
don’t know how much you are missing by declin- 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 87 

ing to join our class. It seems to me more inter- 
esting this year than ever before.” 

It was the first time Helen had alluded to the 
subject since their talk that day going home from 
school. She wondered what was making it so 
easy to say as much as she did. She felt that she 
had been quite bold. Corine rewarded her bold- 
ness by saying, “Well, I wish I could think about 
those things as you do,” and Helen was sure that 
Corine’s voice was unusually earnest. Corine had, 
as we have seen, generally dismissed this subject 
in so matter of-fact a fashion that Helen always 
felt hurt. 

Noticing the change in Corine’s manner, she 
felt a strange sensation of pleasure, a pleasure that 
always comes with approaching success, and all 
the more surely when this success is crowning an 
effort in a cause dear and near to the heart. With 
a rare tact of which she herself was not conscious 
she simply answered: 

“Well, perhaps you will, by and by. Now just 
wait until I get my hat and gloves, and we’ll start. 
Do you think I’ll need my jacket?” 

“ Better take it to be on the safe side; I brought 
mine.” 

Helen got her things and put them on mechanic- 
ally. She was thinking again of that sermon the 


88 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


pastor had preached just before Beatrice’s death. 
That brought thoughts of Beatrice and of her 
death. She remembered now, what she had not 
taken particular notice of at the time, how deeply 
moved Corine had seemed while listening to the 
sermon at Beatrice’s funeral. She wondered 
whether Beatrice’s death had been God’s means 
of reaching Corine’s cold heart. 

As the two cousins were going down the walk, a 
wagon dashed by with so brisk an air of business 
that their attention was attracted to it. Two boys 
sat on the seat ; one was waving his hand at them. 

“Well, I declare, there is John Perkins, and he 
has a brand-new wagon,” exclaimed Corine. 
“He must be doing a good business. Just think 
what a large family they have! I don’t see how 
he could afford a new wagon already.” 

“It isn’t new, it’s the old one painted over,” 
explained Helen. “And do you know, Corine, 
he painted it all himself? He told me about it. 
I don’t know how much he saved, but he told 
me just how much it was in dollars and cents. 
He borrowed an old wagon of a neighbor while he 
was painting this one. Doesn’t it look nice? 
Did you notice what the lettering was, Corine?” 

“Yes. It was ‘Perkins’ Merchants’ Delivery.’ 
I wonder whether he did that himself, too?” 


SOME YOUNG FOUKS’ DOINGS. 89 

“Yes, he did. He did the whole thing. Papa 
says that John is one of the finest boys in town, 
and that he has more business in him than a great 
many business men he knows. I never told you, 
Corine — papa didn’t tell me, either, till just a few 
days ago — but when Mr. Perkins died papa 
offered John a situation in the elevator. Mr. John 
declined to take it. Why ? Because he suspected 
something, and asked papa whether he really 
needed him, or was giving him a position only to 
help him along. You know how honest papa is, 
and what a poor hand he is at pretending any- 
thing. There wasn’t a particle of necessity to 
have any more help at the elevator, as our papas 
always keep as many hands employed as they pos- 
sibly can, whether they are busy with orders or 
not. Papa tried to blunder out an explanation of 
some sort, and that settled it. Sensitive Mr. John 
‘must thankfully decline’ papa’s offer under the 
circumstances. But papa seemed to like him all 
the better for his independence, and I am sure 
that I have not noticed that I like him any less 
myself.” 

“Well, I should think not,” responded her 
cousin. “He’s the kind of boy I prefer to all 
others. I know he is poor and humble; but com- 
pare him with that snippy Willie Seeler, or with 


90 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


that dandified Rob Hoodley, — O dear, Helen, 
did you ever think how few boys there are that a 
person really can respect? There’s Posey Berner, 
she thinks Willie Seeler is the finest boy that ever 
was; when there’s not that much in him,” as she 
snapped her fingers disdainfully. 

“Well, there are at least three good boys in the 
class,”, returned Helen. “Tom Green is a nice 
boy, and Jim Stevens is nice, and on John we 
have agreed already. You mustn’t be too severe 
on the other ‘boys. They are young yet, and will 
have a long time to ‘ brace up ’ and make their 
marks in the world.” 

The boys were all so loyal to Helen that she 
had a soft spot in her heart for all of them. 

Corine was not so easily convinced, however, 
and rejoined: 

“Of course you like them all, Nellie, and they 
all like you. But mark my word, Willie and Rob 
and Hal Tee will never set the world on fire. 
Tom and Jim are good enough, but John is so far 
beyond them that I hadn’t thought of them at all. 
What a hard worker he must be, to get along as 
he does.” 

They had reached the office by this time. Mr. 
Doner was not ready to leave, as he had an ap- 
pointment with a traveling business man half an 


SOME YOUNG folks’ DOINGS. 


91 


hour later, and would be at least half an liour 
transacting business with him. The girls decided 
to take their contemplated trip while waiting for 
him. 

The Oyster was a neat little row-boat that 
Uncle Joe had given to Erv/in and Ralph the pre- 
ceding summer. It was kept at the mill. Mr. 
Doner put it into the water for them and saw them 
off. They were both good rowers, and, exhilarated 
by the fresh October air, they glided swiftly up 
the river and around the bend. 

Corine had judged John Perkins correctly when 
she said, ‘‘What a hard worker he must be.” He 
was a harder worker than many people knew. 
His friends supposed that he applied himself very 
diligently. His instructors believed that he was 
the greatest worker in the school. But only his 
mother knew how much he really had on his 
young shoulders. John was keeping up with his 
class at High School, was helping Paul with the 
delivering in the mornings and evenings, and was, 
at the same time, general superintendent and 
book-keeper of all the family’s affairs. He him- 
self did not know how much he was really doing. 
For, as has often been said, and, what is more, as 
often proven, when one’s heart and interest are in 
his work he has no thought of its hardships; and 


92 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


when the heart is not continually fretting and 
grumbling about the work, the body is better able 
to accomplish its duties. 

John did not show any signs of wearing out. 
His face did not look worried, his back was not be- 
coming bent, he had a good appetite and slept 
well, his color was good, and he seemed to grow 
stronger and more broad-shouldered every day. 
He was a splendid example to set before lazy 
young men, who always excuse themselves on the 
ground that they “couldn’t stand work as hard as 
that.” Perhaps if we had more such examples, 
we might have less such lazy young men, and 
having less such lazy young men we certainly 
would have more such examples. In the mean- 
time let us all hope that this ratio of increase and 
decrease may soon begin to operate extensively. 

John’s folks had not been a family of church- 
goers when they came to Riverton. They were 
now among the most faithful attendants at St. 
Luke's. Mr. Doner had become acquainted with 
Mr. Perkins one winter when he came to the mill 
asking for work during the cold months. As was 
his custom with his employes, he had inquired as 
to Mr. Perkins’ church connections, and, finding 
that he had none, had invited him to St. Luke’s. 

Mr. Perkins paid little attention to the invita- 


SOME YOUNG FOEKS’ DOINGS. 


93 


tioii, and kept on leading; the old life. It was a 
common thing to see him with his wife and chil- 
dren out in the gardens on Sundays hoeing and 
raking and planting and gathering as though Sun- 
day were anything else but God’s day of prayer 
and preaching. His winter Sundays he spent in 
the house with his newspapers. He said that he 
could be just as decent a man without the church 
as he could be with the church, and that he was a 
great deal better than many people who go to 
church regularly. It was the old argument, that 
because there are hypocrites in the church the 
church itself is of no value at all. In other words, 
there would be no value in a ninety per cent, gold 
mine, because the ore contained ten per cent, of 
quartz. 

Mr. Perkins had everything his own way with 
this fine theory of the church and her member- 
ship until the next winter, when he and his wife 
were both taken down sick. Mr. Doner heard of 
their plight and went out to their cottage immedi- 
ately, and inquired carefully into their condition 
and needs. He left, wishing them a speedy recov- 
ery with God’s help. They had been rather sur- 
prised at having this rich man call on them, but 
their surprise was turned into utter bewilderment 
when, an hour after his departure, a goodly quan- 


94 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


tity of provisions arrived for them, with no other 
explanation than that given by the delivery man, 
that Mr. Doner had ordered them sent out in 
haste. 

While they were yet directing the children 
where to put the contents of the packages, there 
was a knock at the door, and a gentleman an- 
nouncing himself as Dr. Rich entered, and pro- 
ceeded to examine into their sickness without 
further ceremony. Upon their protestations that 
they had not sent for him and that they were not 
able to pay any doctor’s bills, he simply told them 
not to worry, that that would be all right. On 
their objections that they did not need any doctor, 
as they had taken only a little cold in their limbs, 
he said, “You’ll find that inflammatory rheuma- 
tism is not so easily shaken off. I’ll send you 
some medicine at once. The directions will be 
on the bottles. Be sure you use the medicine 
regularly, and exactly as I write on the labels.” 

The next morning quite early three well-dressed 
women called. They not only called, but also 
made themselves agreeable and useful. They 
chatted pleasantly with the sick, cleaned up the 
kitchen and the dishes, tidied up the house gen- 
erally, made the children appear presentable, and 
went away, leaving the house looking like a dif- 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 95 

ferent place, and the inhabitants feeling like dif- 
ferent people. John had been doing the house- 
work, and at that time was only ten years old. 

That same afternoon a trunk was brought, and 
before they had succeeded in guessing what it 
meant, a young girl arrived, saying that she was 
glad her trunk had reached there safe, and that 
she had come to stay until they got better. On 
being asked who sent her, she said, the ladies of 
St. lyuke’s church. 

The rheumatism kept the Perkinses company 
for eight weeks. During these eight weeks Jona- 
than Perkins had done some busy thinking. The 
pastor had called often and had helped his 
thoughts along. So it happened that on the first 
Sunday on which they were able to be up and 
about, Jonathan said to his wife, ‘‘Frances, s’pose 
we go down to the church to-day.” 

Frances had plainly been doing some thinking 
for herself, for she consented with unexpected 
alacrity. At the appointed time the whole family 
marched into St. Duke’s. There they were re- 
ceived by the ushers, who were not only polite 
but likewise pious, were treated as respectfully as 
though they had been the Hoodleys, and were 
impressed very favorably with all they heard and 
saw. Soon after this they all joined the church. 


96 


HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Mr. Doner never ceased taking a special interest 
ill them. It was through his leniency as holder 
of the mortgage against their little home place 
that they were enabled to keep it during their 
trying times. 

Naturally, Mr. Perkins always asked Mr. 
Doner’s advice on his affairs. In regard to John’s 
confirmation the deacon had advised him to wait, 
so John had not been confirmed until the spring 
before his father’s death. He had at once joined the 
Young People’s Society, and was its president. He 
had also been made an assistant usher of the church. 

It was about this same identical John the girls 
were again talking as they curved around the river 
bend in their boat — that is, however, not about 
him alone, but about the boys at school in general. 
What made them come back to that subject per- 
haps only the smooth surface of the river and the 
gentle motion of the boat could have explained. 
At any rate, as all young girls will do, they ap- 
proached the subject that has always interested all 
the world, and always will. 

These two girls had usually hitherto talked 
freely to each other about their school-boy sweet- 
hearts, but when Helen suddenly cried, “Corine, 
which one of the boys at school do you like best?” 
Corine had blushed and looked out over the river. 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 97 

Corine was rowing, Helen was guiding the boat 
with the rudder. As Corine looked across the 
water she saw a way out of her dilemma. 

“O Nellie,” she cried, not paying any attention 
to her cousin’s question, “see what lovely, large 
hazel-nuts there are on those bushes in the field 
over there! • Let’s get some of them. There they 
are, right near that clump of hickory trees. Why 
don’t you guide the boat in?” 

“I will not guide it there,” persistently pulling 
the wrong rudder-rope when Corine tried to direct 
the boat in by using only one oar, “until you 
have answered my question.” 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” proposed the in- 
ventive Corine. “I have some of mamma’s visit- 
ing cards with me, and a little pencil. You take a 
card, and I’ll take one, and we’ll each write on 
her card the name of the boy that she likes best, 
and then exchange cards with each other, and 
agree not to read them till we get home this even- 
ing. What do you say?” 

Helen thought it a fine plan, so the cards were 
produced, and written and exchanged with a great 
amount of fun, and then put carefully away into 
the jacket-pockets. After that Helen could steer 
the boat to the shore with her “mind at rest,” as 
she expressed it with a mock sigh. They gathered 

7 


98 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


the hazel-nuts, skipped stones across the water, 
and enjoyed themselves generally as two sensible, 
healthy girls would do. 

When they reached the mill again, Mr. Doner 
was still engaged with the visitor. They sat down 
in the outer office to wait for him. Presently the 
two gentlemen came out from the inner desk- 
room. Helen’s father introduced the stranger to 
the girls. He was an elderly man, but seemed as 
strong and spry as a young soldier. His name 
was Chamberlain. He was very distinguished - 
looking, which recommended him highly to both 
the girls. He soon left, however, and they set out 
for home. Corine left the others at the first corner. 

As they were walking home, Helen’s father ex- 
plained to her that the stranger was an English- 
man to whom they sometimes shipped grain, and 
that he would be at the house to take tea with 
them. Mr. Chamberlain duly appeared. He 
proved himself a very agreeable visitor. He took 
a remarkable fancy to Helen, saying that he had 
once had a little girl of just about her age and size. 
As for Helen, she was quite fascinated with her 
new acquaintance. 

When he left at nine o’clock, and she was ready 
to go upstairs, she suddenly remembered Corine’s 
card. She hurried to the cloak-room to get it from 


SOME YOUNG FOLKS’ DOINGS. 99 

her jacket-pocket, and read, “John Perkins,” un- 
derscored with three lines. She laughed aloud. 

As soon as she reached her home, Corine had 
gone to her room to read Helen’s card. What she 
read was this, ‘‘John Perkins.” So she had her 
laugh first. 

When they met at school the next Monday the 
first thing the girls did was to have another good 
girls’ laugh together. Then they wished each 
other success and much joy. How could they be 
jealous, these sweet girl natures ? If only all of us 
were as free from jealousy as they were. 


CHAPTER VIL 


CONFIRMATION. 

As the Christmas holidays approached, our 
young people were busier than ever, for in addi- 
tion to their usual work there came the Christmas 
preparations. Several of the girls were heard de- 
claring that they did not see how they ever could 
get through ; but in spite of that they did get 
through, and they all looked the better for having 
had the blessed busy holidays, as they stood, on 
this first day of the new term, talking and laugh- 
ing before the school bell was tapped for recita- 
tions. 

After school Helen said to Corine : 

‘‘Better go along with me to lecture. I know 
it will be interesting for you to-day.” 

To her delight Corine agreed. While the other 
girls remained, chatting and comparing vacation 
notes, these two proceeded to the lecture-room at 
St. Luke’s. Corine was taken completely by sur- 
prise. At first she glanced around rather critic- 
ally, especially at the younger catechumens ; but 


CONFIRMATION. 


lOI 


her critical spirit deserted her when the pastor 
opened with prayer. His words were so simple 
and direct that to Corine it seemed as if God must 
be standing near to listen. When the short prayer, 
for God’s guidance and His blessing on the chil- 
dren, was ended, it seemed to her that if God had 
any heart at all He could not refuse to grant what 
had been asked. When the children began to 
sing, she was inclined to think that God had 
already granted the prayer, for they rendered the 
sweet little song with a joyful spirit that was in- 
fectious. Ere Corine knew it, she was looking on 
the book with Helen and singing too. 

Then followed the lesson. It was explained 
clearly and practically. Corine was positively 
delighted. It did not require the interested faces 
of the pupils to show her that each one understood 
the doctrine and its proofs and its importance. 

As they were going home after a pleasant little 
chat with the pastor, Corine said : 

‘‘Helen, you once told me that your pastor said 
something about the Holy Spirit’s coming to chil- 
dren who are only thirteen years old, and making 
things clear to them. I think he should have said 
that the Holy Ghost comes to him, and he makes 
things clear to the children.” 

“Doesn’t he explain things the loveliest?” said 


102 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Helen, with eyes glistening. “I only wish you 
would let him explain all your doubts and your 
stubbornness away.” 

“So do I,” added Corine; but she did nothing 
more to make it possible for the pastor to help her 
realize her wish. This was Corine’s great trouble. 
She would feel impulses in the right direction, but 
would not act on them while they were strong 
enough to move her; and, when they weakened or 
disappeared, she was the same girl as she had been 
before they tried to persuade her. What a struggle 
it always is to get away from the wrong ! Corine’s 
struggle was all the harder because she rejected 
every assistance that the merciful Father granted 
her. 

Under Pastor Denton’s care the class made good 
progress. It had not seemed a long and tiresome 
task, when one day he announced, “Well, we have 
now reached the end of the Catechism, and will 
begin reviewing.” The review was, if anything, 
more interesting than the first course had been. 
Pentecost drew nearer and nearer, and the chil- 
dren began to feel sorry that the time when they 
would no longer meet as a class was so close at 
hand. 

They were to be publicly examined on the Sun- 
day before Pentecost. When this Sunday dawned 


CONFIRMATION. 


103 


fair and bright the class were correspondingly glad, 
for, in spite of their excitement at appearing be- 
fore the congregation for examination, they all 
wanted the church to be filled. They had their 
wish, as every seat in the large auditorium was 
occupied, and, in addition, every chair in the com- 
modious Sunday-school room adjoining. 

The pastor conducted the examination in the 
sensible and interesting manner in which he had 
always conducted the recitations and lectures. 
The examination was thorough, taking up over an 
hour’s time, but was so carried on as to prove in- 
teresting to all. The pastor’s method put the chil- 
dren entirely at their ease, and they answered his 
questions readily, and with conviction. There 
was no unnecessary quizzing and puzzling, only a 
straight-forward questioning along the lines of the 
chief doctrines of the Bible, as confessed by the 
church. When it was over there was no need of 
drawing a long sigh of relief, although naturally 
the children all felt somewhat relieved. 

Pentecost Sunday dawned gray and cloudy, and 
hundreds of hearts were filled with disappointment. 
About nine o’clock, however, the clouds and the 
disappointment began to disperse. By half-past 
nine the sky was clear and bright. Again the 
church was thronged with people. 


104 her place assigned. 

The service was all sacredness and solemnity. 
The pastor had impressed upon the children a 
sense of the earnestness and importance of the oc- 
casion. And, although the girls were not un- 
mindful of their appearance in their new white 
and cream dresses, with flowers from the green- 
house, and hair dressed particularly prettily, nor 
the boys of their new suits and neckties, still they 
had been sufficiently impressed all through the 
course of lectures with the importance of this day; 
so it was not easy for them to forget, and they 
bore themselves with due propriety and serious- 
ness. 

Reverend Denton had not considered it beneath 
his dignity to rehearse with the class their proces- 
sion into the church, their division at the chancel, 
their approach and kneeling at the altar, their ac- 
ceptance of “the right hand of Christian fellow- 
ship and love,” and all the other details of the 
beautiful ceremony. He believed that, in due re- 
spect to God and the dignity of the church and 
the import of the occasion, beauty in the services 
was demanded. In his mind he had never been 
able to associate beauty with awkwardness and 
hitching and halting. His idea on this point was 
also carried out in his own bearing at the altar. 
He did not strut about like a lecturer on a plat- 


CONFIRMATION. 


105 


form, nor did he comport himself with the stiffness 
of an automaton, but moved to and fro as though 
himself impressed by the fact that “ the Lord is in 
His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence be- 
fore Him and worship Him.’’ 

Worshiping God meant much at St. Luke’s, and 
was such as to impress the beholder, not with an 
idea that the worshipers believed in forms for 
forms’ sake, but with the feeling that God was 
truly nigh, and it beseemed not to approach Him 
without reverence. 

Tears filled many eyes at that confirmation serv- 
ice: the entrance of the class, led slowly down the 
wide aisle by the pastor, solemnly chanting a pro- 
cessional to the music of the great organ’s softest 
stops, the pastor’s deep bass mingling with the 
clear treble of boys’ voices in the alto and the 
girls’ sweeter voices in a beautiful soprano; the 
well-timed arrival at the chancel just as the class 
had reached the end of the chant; the precise and 
graceful division into two lines, exactly conform- 
ing to the two rows of chairs provided; the instant 
transition of the organ into a burst of Pentecostal 
music. 

It came suddenly like “a sound from heaven, as 
of a rushing, mighty wind, and it filled all the 
house where they were sitting.” The singers at 


io6 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


the organ arise as if by one consent, and with the 
marvelous melody of the organ’s soul unite the 
music of their Christian souls, moved by the Spirit 
of God. The welling waves of sounding praise 
sweep triumphant over the gathered concourse, 
then onward and upward into the arched dome 
that crowns the vaulted ceiling. From thence, 
renewed in power, they descend again, to join 
with their own selves in showering blessings on 
the waiting multitudes beneath. 

And then sonorous hallelujahs echo away, roll- 
ing among the distant architraves, and in their 
train come softer strains, breathing the soothing 
fellowship of the Comforter “whom I will send 
unto you from the Father.” 

Over the hushed stillness of the sacred scene 
falls heaven’s light, mellowed by soft colors in the 
rich windows, of which each one revealed from 
the life of the Christ a scene as dear and touching 
as those shown in the others. 

Here in the altar recess He stood, the Good 
Shepherd, gathering the lambs with His arms and 
carrying them in His bosom, His countenance 
grave, tender, full of pity, loving beyond expres- 
sion. 

Here to the right, in the large main window, 
He stood again, the Holy Child, receiving adora- 


CONFIRMATION. 


107 


tion in the clouds of heaven from the angels; they 
praising Him, making joyful noises with psaltery 
and harp, with timbrels and loud cymbals, while 
He himself receives their adoration, the Child- 
figure erect, the face bright with divinity, yet sad 
and earnest with contemplation of a sorrow that is 
soon to be realized, for “surely He hath borne 
our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Meet indeed 
it is that to this Man of Sorrows, whom men re- 
jected and despised, angels should sing their lofti- 
est praises. 

The music has changed again. Joyful notes of 
praise are gladding all the house : 

“Let songs of praises fill the sky, 

Christ, our ascended Lord, 

Sends down His Spirit from on high 
According to His Word. 

All hail the day of Pentecost, 

The coming of the Holy Ghost.” 

The rapturous voices seem to leap exultingly 
through space to reach with greetings yonder 
throng of heaven’s host in the large window at 
the rear. Above, a night-sky, darkened by thick, 
gray clouds. In the midst, a burst of light; “and 
lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and 
the glory of the Lord shone round about them ; 
and they were sore afraid.” There they are be- 


io8 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


neath, in the lower panels of that glorious paint- 
ing, shepherds, quaking with fear, yet chained to 
the spot, entranced, they know not by what. 
Sheep-flocks are hurrying, frighted, away. “And 
suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of 
the heavenly host, praising God.’’ You see them 
now, numberless light-winged angel hosts, each 
cloud in the vast picture bearing its group of 
heavenly spirits. Their voices, all uniting, seem 
to join with the ecstatic song of Whitsuntide the 
transporting strains of that first Christmas night, 
“ Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, 
good will toward men.” 

Again the anthem changes. It is pleading now: 

Oh, Christ, that blessedst the children of earth, 

Thy Spirit descend upon us.” 

And see, yonder rests the way-worn Jesus, yon- 
der, in the beautiful window in the school-room 
— rests by the wayside, on the well-curb, where 
sheep are slaking their thirst. “And they brought 
young children to Jesus, that He should touch 
them.” And Jesus is saying, “Suffer little chil- 
dren to come unto me, and forbid them not.” 

Oh, that we all were little children, born again 
of the blessed Pentecostal Spirit — that no sin, no 
Satan, no bane of earth or hell, might forbid us to 
come to Jesus I 


CONFIRMATION. 


109 


The music is ceasing, — nay, Tis not. For it is 
naught else than music, this melodious voice, the 
introit of the service, ‘‘This is the day which the 
Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it: 
we will come before His presence with thanksgiv- 
ing, and enter into His courts with praise.’’ 

The responsive service, joined in by the whole 
congregation, is veritably inspiring. Through the 
souls of the assembled worshipers there passes that 
feeling of awe that had filled Jacob’s soul when he 
said, “How dreadful is this place: this is none 
other but the house of God, and this is the gate of 
heaven.” 

On the altar service follows a hymn by the con- 
gregation, one of those soul-inspiring hymns in the 
possession of which the Lutheran church is so rich 
and so powerful. At its close the pastor appears 
in the pulpit. He speaks : 

“My dear children : As a remembrance of this, 
the day of your confirmation, each one of you will 
receive at the hands of the church a sealed and 
written testimony of his or her reception into the 
full participation of all the spiritual privileges that 
belong to the church as being the body of Christ. 
These rolls of parchment should mean much to 
you. They will remind you of the days you have 
spent in the study of God’s Word ; of the doctrines 


no 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


and directions, the comforts and promises, that 
you have found in that inexhaustible treasury ; of 
the vows that you have made this day ; of the glory 
of the Kingdom of Grace, the Christian church, 
whose adult members you become to-day. There 
is about them, however, one special feature to 
which I would direct your attention. This is the 
so-called memory verse, a verse of the Word of 
God which liveth and abideth forever, adorning 
each one of these perishable leaves. These certif- 
icates may be defaced, lost, destroyed, and your 
names still remain written in heaven. But if the 
truth, of which these passages of Scripture are a 
part, be effaced from your hearts, then all is lost 
for you forever. My dear children, that should not 
be. That must not be. That dare not be. May 
God’s Holy Spirit, whose outpouring we celebrate 
this day, descend upon you and me, aiding me to 
give, and you to receive, these words so deep into 
your souls, that “neither death, nor life, nor 
angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
present nor things to come, nor height nor depth, 
nor any other creature, shall be able to separate” 
you “from the love of God, which is in Christ 
Jesus, our Lord.” 

Then addressing each child separately and in- 
dividually, he reads to it the Scripture text of its 


CONFIRMATION. 


Ill 


certificate, and speaks to its soul a few well-chosen 
words of explanation, advice, good cheer, and warn- 
ing. Not a word is addressed directly to the con- 
gregation, but nevertheless not a soul is in all that 
house but feels itself personally bespoken for faith 
in Jesus and obedience to God’s law. 

After this address there is a hymn, sung by the 
class of catechumens ; then the earnest questions : 
“ Do you renounce? ” — “Do you believe?” — “Do 
you promise?” — answered in sincerity and with 
understanding. The class kneel down before the 
altar of the Lord. The organ breathes a soft, al- 
most inaudible accompaniment, while the pastor, 
with laying on of hands of blessing, pronounces a 
benediction on each child. 

The class arise. With a few more words of 
fatherly love and solicitude the pastor distributes 
their certificates to them. The right hand of fel- 
lowship is extended, and is grasped in a response 
that is as hearty as its giving. A hymn of thanks 
and praise ascends to God from the hearts of the 
confirmed. 

The closing service, as impressive as the open- 
ing, ensues, ending with a benediction pronounced 
with so evident a fervency that each hearer feels 
its power as a real benison, and, with a joyous doxo- 
logy from all the congregation, the Pentecostal 


II2 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


confirmation service is over. Truly, it was another 
outpouring of the Holy Ghost. 

After the service the class were surrounded by 
friends and well-wishers, some laughingly con- 
gratulating, others devoutly blessing them. Let 
us hope that they will all be faithful unto death 
and receive the crown of life. 

Corine’s few words to Helen made her happier 
than those of all the others. She had waited until 
all the others had spoken to Helen. Then she 
came and took her arm, and led her toward the 
door. “O Nellie,” she said, “it was so sweet;” 
and the tears filled her eyes, and a sob choked in 
her throat, and she said no more. Helen seemed 
to understand, and said nothing. 

They stopped a moment at the parsonage to get 
Helen’s things. Then, arm in arm, they walked 
silently to Helen’s home, where they were all to 
dine that day. 

On Trinity Sunday the class participated in their 
first communion, and thus their real life as full 
church members was begun, a life that should 
mean to each and every one, “Fight the good fight 
of faith, lay hold on eternal life, whereunto thou 
art also called, and hast professed a good profession 
before many witnesses.” 

What would their lives be? God grant that we 


CONFIRMATION. 


may one day meet them all kneeling about the 
golden altar that is before the throne, there to re- 
ceive the everlasting confirmation of “the Lamb 
which is in the midst of the throne,’’ the Lamb 
which “shall feed them, and shall lead them unto 
living fountains of water.” 

8 


CHAPTER VIIL 


THE MIDDEERS. 

Nothing of note happened to the class of R. 
H, S., during their first year. They all made 
steady progress, with the exception, perhaps, of 
Rob Hoodley and Posey Berner. 

Posey was rather a careless girl, not gifted highly 
enough to allow of her being careless if she wished 
her marks to be good, and still possessed of a 
plenty of mental power to keep abreast of the 
others if she only applied herself. 

Rob Hoodley’s trouble was that he had always 
been pampered and petted too much. His father’s 
money had always made things easy for him, but 
everybody knows that there is no royal road to 
learning. So Rob’s money was of no help to him 
in getting his lessons. He might have hired a 
“coach,” but he was too honorable for that, not 
having forgotten the pledge he had signed. In- 
deed, Rob would not have stooped to that means, 
even had he not signed the class resolutions. 
Still the pledge did help him in remaining upright. 

(114) 


THE MIDDLERS. 


II5 

Helen had stated the case correctly at that first 
class-meeting, when she said that they would not 
do right merely because they had pledged them- 
selves, yet the pledge would remind them of their 
duties. 

Rob had got along through school so far by tak- 
ing several of the grades twice. When he got into 
the High School he did not know what to do. He 
floundered about, neither sinking nor swimming, 
barely keeping himself afloat. 

One evening as Corine and Helen and Fannie 
v/ere leaving the school-yard, some one called out 
behind them, Hold on there, girls ! ” 

They all three faced about like soldiers expect- 
ing the attack of an enemy. It was Jim Stevens’ 
voice that had startled them. He was hurrying 
along as fast as he well could. Tom Green and 
John Perkins were with him. 

“Come back here. We want to talk to you,” 
continued Jim, as they came up to the girls. 
They all stepped inside again, and Jim led the 
way to an inviting maple-tree, where the girls sat 
down among the autumn leaves on a rustic bench, 
and the boys found seats on the grass. 

“Well, what’s this all about?” demanded 
Fannie. “I’m all curiosity to hear.” 

Jim looked at Tom, and Tom looked at Jim, and 


ii6 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


they both looked at John, and John looked from 
one to the other, and then they all three burst out 
into a comical laugh. 

“I’ll bet it’s one of Tom Green’s jokes,” broke 
in Fannie. “If it is, I’m going to leave this 
moment.” She began to gather up her books to 
emphasize her threat. 

“Don’t do that, Fannie,” Jim begged. “It’s 
like this. We’ve got something to say, and we 
don’t know how to say it.” 

“Yes, we do,” said Tom. “And it’s this. You 
girls have noticed as well as we boys have, that if 
things don’t go differently with some of our estim- 
able class-mates we will begin to dwindle in num- 
bers at the end of the year. Miss Marker hasn’t 
said much, and I don’t believe she will. It isn’t 
her way. But it doesn’t take a whole dictionary 
full of words to give a fellow the bounce either, 
and when the time comes she’ll say the few that 
are necessary.” 

“And what we’ve been saying is that we ought 
to be doing something,” put in John. “ We agreed 
to stand by each other and to tell each other when 
things would go wrong, and here’s our chance 
now.” 

“You mean Posey Berner,” observed Fannie. 

“Yes, and Rob Hoodley too,” added Corine. 


THE MIDDLERS. 


117 

“Good guesses,” chuckled Jim. “If you girls 
had spoken out that way at the start, you could 
have saved us all this trouble of breaking the ice 
and coming to the point.” 

“Jim,” giggled Fannie, “you’re just too silly 
for any use. As if we had called you out here to 
talk this over, instead of you us. We didn’t even 
know what was in the wind. But that’s just the 
way with you boys.” 

“Well, now,” said Helen, “ I have been noticing 
Posey and Rob too ; but I thought there was time 
yet to wait. If the rest of you believe we ought to 
act at once, I think one of us had better speak to 
Rosie and one to Rob. Perhaps we can do them a 
great deal of good.” 

“But that’s just where the rub comes,” cried 
Tom. “Catch me going to that rich nabob and 
dictating to him.” 

“Nonsense, Tom,” returned Corine. “Who’s 
talking about dictating? We want to help him.” 

“Pretty rough sort of help, though,” objected 
Tom. 

“Yes, but Tom,” explained Helen. “If you 
were drowning, and somebody should jerk you out 
of the water by the hair, so that your scalp would 
be sore for a week afterwards, do you think you 
would feel hard toward him for saving your life ? ” 


Il8 HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 

“I wish somebody would jerk his hair that way 
this moment,’’ observed Fannie. “He needs it.” 

But Tom paid no attention. His head was busy 
with the task in hand. 

“Suppose one of you girls speaks to Rob,” he 
ventured. 

“ No, it must be one of you boys, ’ ’ asserted Helen. 

“Well, I can’t do it,” said Tom. 

“Nor I,” said John. 

“Same here,” concluded Jim. 

“Well, why not?” queried Corine. 

“Just because he’d fire us out of the yard,” said 
Tom decisively. 

“I think that’s all a mistake, boys,” urged 
Corine. “If I know anything at all, Rob will be 
glad to know what’s wrong with him. That’s one 
trouble with Miss Marker. She is too short, and 
doesn’t explain a person’s faults enough. Rob is 
trying as well as he knows how, and I say again, 
he’ll be glad if you give him a kind lift.” 

“That’s exactly the state of the case, Corine,” 
commented Helen; “and I think the best person 
to tell Rob will be John.” 

Thus appealed to, John rejoined: “Well, I 
don’t relish the job exactly, and if I’m not mis- 
taken Rob will be good and mad. He is good- 
natured enough as a general thing; but when these 


THE MIDDEERS. 


1 19 

good-natured fellows once feel insulted, it’s ‘look 
out’ all day and every day for a while. There’s 
no harm in trying to do good, though, so I’ll prom- 
ise to tell Rob. But who will talk to Rosie?” 

“Corine,” decided Helen. 

Corine consented. So they dispersed. 

John spoke to Rob next day, and was astonished 
at the result. 

“Say, Rob, you know the class agreed to 
kind o’ father and mother each other during their 
High School course. W e’ ve been noticing that you 
aren’t getting along very well, and so several of us 
have decided to speak to you about it. I hope 
you’ll not be offended.” 

Instead of answering, Rob sat down on a bench 
and, big boy though he was, burst out crying. 
John did not know what to make of that. He 
stood a while irresolute, and then sat down by Rob, 
and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said : 

“Took here, Rob, tell me what’s bothering you. 
I’ve had more than one hard row to hoe myself, 
and if you are in trouble maybe I can help you.” 

Rob began to grow quieter now, and presently 
looked up rather shame-facedly. There was no 
mistaking the honest look in John’s manly face, 
and Rob explained that he was trying as hard as 
he could, but that somehow things wouldn’t work. 


120 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Now Rob/’ said John, “you let me give you a 
little advice. You have things pretty easy — we 
all know how well off your folks are, and it’s no 
disgrace, for I know your father got his money 
honestly and uses it right, and that’s more than a 
good many rich men can say. But the trouble is 
right here. You think you are studying hard ; but 
the fact is, you have things so easy in everything 
else that you don’t really know what hard work is. 
Now, you ought to put just twice as much time on 
your studies as you do. The truth is, you go rid- 
ing almost every evening, and you go hunting 
about every Saturday, and there are other things I 
might mention. Don’t you see, you can’t do all 
these things and get your lessons at the same 
time ? ’ ’ 

“ If I thought that would help, I’d quit all my fun 
right off, and do as you say,” rejoined Rob. 

“Well, you try it two or three weeks,” laughed 
John, “and see how it will work.” 

“I’ll do that, John. And here — let’s shake. 
I’m glad you told me.” And the boys parted. 

Rob needed no more talking to after that. He 
forged ahead, and stood well up in the intermedi- 
ate ranks of the class. John never told the class of 
the details of his interview with Rob. He only 
said that Rob had acted sensibly and would brace up. 


THE MIDDLERS. 1 21 

Corine’s adventure with '^osey was not so inter- 
esting. She did not find an opportunity to speak 
to her after school next day, so she called at her 
house as she went home from school. 

“O Corine, I’m so glad to see you,” and Posey 
flitted about perfectly delighted. “Come in and 
sit down. I want to show you my new jacket. 
And did I tell you ? Aunt Mina sent me the 
beautifullest little gold watch yesterday. You 
know she just got back from Europe day before 
yesterday. We are all going over in three years, 
after I am graduated, you know, and I just can’t 
think of anything else.” 

Corine looked at the jacket and the watch, and 
admired them dutifully. 

“Now Rosie,” she began, when Rosie showed 
signs of talking a little less, “I came to tell you 
something. Do you know you are thinking of 
other things too much and of your school-work too 
little? We don’t want to lose you out of the class, 
and thought we’d speak to you. You can easily 
have a good standing, we all know that; and it’s 
the greater pity you shouldn’t have it, seeing that 
you could if you would. Don’t you think you 
could pitch in and work a little harder?” 

“Why, is it as bad as all that, Corine? Miss 
Marker hasn’t said anything particular.” 


122 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“ It isn’t Miss Marker’s way to say much. She 
expects High School scholars to be old enough to 
know their duties, Rosie. And we all agreed the 
other day, six of us, that your chances will be slim 
unless there is a change soon.” 

“Well, if it’s as bad as that, I’ll be more care- 
ful. I didn’t know I’d been so shocking. Papa 
and mamma have been talking to me, but I 
thought they were just trying to scare me into get- 
ting an extra good rating. I’ll promise, Corine, to 
stick to the class.” 

“ All right, Rosie ; I’m very glad and Corine 
left. 

Rosie did better after that ; not much better, but 
at least well enough to maintain her membership 
in the class. So they all plodded through that year, 
and were now middlers. 

Their second year was, in most respects, like the 
first. There were no stirring events to mark it. 
This does not mean that their school-life was hum- 
drum. It was anything but that. A steady inter- 
est was kept up, there was an ardent emulation 
among the pupils, there were brilliant efforts and 
successes in orations and essays, there were ani- 
mated struggles for first place, there was a plenty 
of exercise in the fields for the botany-class and in 
the laboratory for the natural-philosophy class. 


THE MIDDLERS. 


123 


there were class-meetings and a debating society, 
there was a lively social relation kept up, there 
were games of football and baseball, and all the 
other regular events that take place in High School 
courses all over the land. But the occurrence of 
all these we take as being self-evident, and for that 
reason I have said that the days passed on without 
having anything noteworthy happen. 

If you will take a glance at the class now, 
though, you will notice considerable excitement. 
Tom Green is bustling around as if the existence 
of Riverton depended on his movements. Almost 
every day he is calling at the Drew mansion, and 
he and the vice-president have earnest consulta- 
tions. Extra class meetings are keeping Corine 
busy recording voluminous minutes. Hilda Trapp 
is penning messages in her most business-like 
hand. And people that do not know that Tom 
and John and Helen are the executive committee 
of the middlers must be supposing that a plot in- 
volving the safety of the Republic forever is being 
laid, so assiduous are they. Still, all this is noth- 
ing more than the preparation for what is called at 
Riverton High School the Middlers’ May Merry- 
Making. 

It had become an unwritten law at Riverton that 
this merry-making must take place; but the law 


124 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


did not do service as a means of compulsion. It 
needed not that. The law served only as a rule 
and an expression of custom. The plan of the 
merry-making was the following : 

The middlers arranged an excursion to any out- 
of-town point. Riverton now had four railroads, 
each one running numerous trains, so that excur- 
sions in any direction were practicable. There 
were, besides, two small steam-launches that would 
on due notice (long enough time to get up steam), 
and for due compensation, take pleasure-parties 
down the river. 

The excursions of the middlers were not neces- 
sarily limited to a certain mode of transportation, 
the only requirement being that they go out of 
town. To these excursions the seniors were in- 
vited, but they were not given the least information 
of the point to which the excursion would be run. 
It was left to their wit and ingenuity to discover 
this, and to get themselves to the objective point as 
well as they could. It was accounted perfectly 
fair to carry on eaves-dropping when the middlers 
were having their consultation meetings. Any- 
thing, in short, which would help to discover the 
middlers’ plans was called entirely fair. If any 
senior were caught in the act, however, a fine was 
imposed upon him, consisting of not less than a 


THK MIDDLRRS. 


125 


Speech or a song at the merry-making, and of not 
more than ice-cream for the whole middle class, to 
be paid sometime before commencement of that 
year on a day set by the middlers. 

The class of ’81 were fortunate in possessing a Jim 
Stevens. They instituted him sergeant-at-arms, 
and one by one the unfortunate seniors fell into 
his athletic hands, until seven had been arraigned 
before the smiling middlers. The fines imposed 
were : ice-cream, angels’ food, ham-sandwiches, 
chocolate bon-bons, oranges, charlotte-russe, and 
lemonade. So great was the misfortune of the 
seniors that they then and there resolved simply to 
give the heroic middlers a fine banquet, and be 
done with it, a resolution which they afterwards 
faithfully kept. 

As far as the plans of the ‘‘youngsters,” as the 
seniors called them, were concerned, they knew as 
little as ever. Nor were they likely to find them 
out, for they were not only highly ingenious, but 
were also a decided innovation. 

The classes heretofore had made it a rule to go 
out of town either by rail or by water, never think- 
ing of being transported in any other way. It is 
so in everything, big things and little. People get 
into certain ways of doing a thing, and there they 
stick. Then, when somebody introduces a change, 


126 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


some say, ‘‘The old way is good enough for us,” 
and the others say, “Why didn’t somebody think 
of that before?” They are both to be taken to 
task. A thing is not good enough for humanity 
if a better is within reach, especially in as easy 
reach as the newly discovered things usually are ; 
and, on the other hand, as regards the not think- 
ing of things before, they might have been thought 
of before if more thinking had been done generally. 
It is actually astonishing how little independent 
thinking is done by the average person. 

The plan of the middlers was this. They knew 
that their guests would be keeping a close watch 
at the railroad stations and at the boat-houses. 
Besides, the old schemes were too tame for their 
enterprising blood. So, after much planning and 
consultation, they had, led on by a suggestion 
which John Perkins had at first made in pure fun, 
but which Corine had grasped and in which she 
saw great possibilities, finally evolved the plan of 
abandoning both railroads and steamboats, and 
getting out of town by means of horse-conveyance. 
The objective point was the Doner farm, that part 
of it, especially, which was the old homestead, 
and was at that time occupied by the Lees. 

The middlers had contracted for the only carry- 
all that the village afforded, a quite fine and large 


THE MIDDLERS. 


127 


band-wagon, owned by one of the local livery-men. 
They were certain that even if the seniors did dis- 
cover their plan at the last moment, they would 
have a long chase-around to get enough suitable 
horses and conveyances to carry them out. The 
senior class numbered eighteen. Besides all this, 
the middlers had decided to perpetrate a ruse. 
They would start out in a direction that would 
make it appear as if they were going to the old 
fishing-grounds up the river. Then, by a round- 
about road, they would reach the farm. 

The eventful day dawned at last, and a finer day 
no one could have wished, so bright and cloudless, 
so sweet and balmy. It was one of those incom- 
parable American May-days that make those people 
who pretend they like winter best say, “Well, 
summer is pretty nice after all;” and make cityites 
acknowledge, “ Well, there is something pretty fine 
about country-life at any rate;” and make boys say, 
“Ma, can’t I go bare-footed to-day?” and make old- 
country folks say, “Well, America is a pretty good 
place to live just the same.” 

The middlers kept even their assembling place a 
secret. And when at seven o’clock that morning 
the gay band-wagon dashed through the streets, 
gorgeously decorated with bunting in blue and gold, 
loaded with the triumphant class, the seniors who 


128 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


were appointed to do the street-patrolling were al- 
most wild with astonishment. 

“Briggs,” shouted one of them to his nearest 
companion, “you get the other fellows and hire 
some rigs as quick as you can, while I run around 
the corner to where I’ve got my pony tied and chase 
after them and find out what their scheme is.” 
(Even seniors forget to use fine English when they 
are excited.) 

Briggs began to do as he had been told, while 
Franks, the speaker, jumped on his pony and dashed 
after the fast-disappearing wagon. This he fol- 
lowed through the town, past the mill, and about a 
quarter of a mile up the river road. 

“ Ha, ha,” said he, “ I begin to see through their 
great scheme. And that’s what those long things 
are, sticking out of the end of the wagon — fish-poles. 
Pretty good scheme, if I do have to acknowledge it. 
Pretty good scheme. I’ll bet a dollar that’s some 
of that Perkins’ cuteness. And Corine Hereford’s 
hand has been in it, too. Well, we’re in for it. 
So here goes back. Wonder where we’ll get 
enough rigs. Only hope the other fellows are dust- 
ing around.” And, casting one more look at the 
cloud of dust up the road, he wheeled his pony 
around, and cantered into town again. 

Arrived there, he found a number of his class- 


THE MIDDLERS. 


129 


mates running about in great consternation, trying 
to find enough conveyances to carry their class. 
Their success was slow, but in the end better 
than they had dared to expect ; for they finally se- 
cured a picnic wagon that would accommodate 
twelve of them, and an old surrey that would carry 
the remaining six if they did not object to a little 
crowding. It was almost eight o’clock when they 
started, however, and then they had forgotten two 
of the girls and one of the boys, a committee which 
had been sent for some fishing-lines and some 
hooks, and were compelled to drive back several 
blocks to get them. The poles they expected to 
cut after they reached the fishing-grounds. 

Mr. and Mrs. Boise, the principal of the High 
School and his wife, accompanied them in a phae- 
ton as monitors, and now the chase began in real 
earnest. 

9 


CHAPTER IX. 


A JOLLY TIME. 

Meanwhile the middlers had dashed out the river 
road about a mile and a half, when they turned to the 
right at old Colonel White’s farm, where the big 
red barn stood at the cross-roads, drove east four 
miles, then took the slant road, which crossed the 
direct road from Riverton to the farm about one 
mile west of the farm ; then turning east again 
reached the farm all safe and sound, and after hav- 
ing had the jolliest kind of a drive. It is true that, 
by making this detour, they had to travel eight and 
a half miles instead of the six miles of the direct 
road ; but who ever heard of a picnic party object- 
ing to a little lengthening of the trip to the grounds? 
The fact that Professor and Mrs. Scranton were with 
them in the band-wagon did not tend to make the 
crowd less lively. 

They had barely got started when Tom and Fan- 
nie began their first quarrel. 

“What’s in that bottle you’re holding so care- 
fully?” said her tormentor. 


A JOLLY TIME. 


“None of your business,” snapped she. 

“Why, of course it is. I’ve got some candy here 
that I intend to give you if you’ll tell me what it 

is.” 

“Fine candy?” asked Fannie. She was partic- 
ular about the candy she ate. 

“Yes sir-ree,” said he. “It’s the best Daddy 
Rice had in the shop. Now, what’s in the bottle?” 

“Well, if you must know, it’s vanilla. We’re 
going to make ice cream out at the farm. Now 
give me the candy.” 

“Hold on a bit. I don’t believe it is vanilla. 
You don’t get the candy until I know for sure what 
it is.” 

“Well, look at it then, if you think you can tell 
better that way, you goosie. You don’t suppose I 
brought laudanum along to flavor the ice cream, do 
you ?” 

“I don’t know. It would be just about like 
somebody I know, that brought her geography 
down for singing practice two days in succession.” 

Fannie began to lose patience at that, but she 
scornfully handed him the bottle. Tom took it 
with the wise air of a chemist and held it to the 
light. Then he carefully removed the cork and 
put the bottle to his nose. Assuming an air of 
astonishing gravity, he said: 


132 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“My friends, this is not vanilla, as this young 
lady would have us believe.” 

“I guess this young lady knows just about as 
much as you do, Tom Green, and if that isn’t ex- 
tract of vanilla you can eat dinner with me. As 
for the present, I disdain to have anything more to 
say to you on the subject. Your ignorance is too 
utterly dense.” 

In answer, Tom turned to the professor. 

“Professor, is this not extract of the tonqua- 
bean ?” 

“Yes, Tom, it undoubtedly is. As I told you in 
class day before yesterday, the true vanilla bean 
does not get into the extracts of our grocers and 
druggists.” 

The shout that rose at Fannie’s expense was 
deafening. She turned her back on Tom and said : 

“I sha’n’t speak to you again to-day, so there! ” 

“What a nice quiet dinner I’ll have,” said he, 
as he winked at the others of the class, “with no- 
body to bother me with her rattling tongue — ah 1” 

Thus they laughed and talked away, these merry 
middlers, every one of them happy and gay as a 
lark ; only, of course, some were more lively than 
others. 

Even Ada Lansen was laughing and chatting 
away. She was a rather sour girl at other times ; 


A JOLLY TIME. 


133 


one of those people that will never look at the 
bright side of anything. You have often met 
them. When you call their attention to anything 
that is pretty or speak of any person that is pros- 
perous, they begin their answers with the invari- 
able phrase, “Yes, but — Ada had heard her 
parents grumble about this, that, and the other, 
ever since she had been able to hear at all. It was 
small wonder that she had acquired the same habit. 

“Just see what nice black ground,” said Posey 
Berner, as they were passing a field where a 
farmer was plowing beautiful rich furrows. 

“Ground isn’t always rich when it looks black,” 
said Ada. 

“Oh, isn’t it?” asked Posey. 

“No indeed,” said Ada. 

“Why, I always thought it was,” said Posey. 

“ That must be good ground over there,” put in 
Mary Charman. “Just see how nice and fresh 
that green stuff looks that’s growing there.” 

“What is that green stuff, Ada?” asked Hilda. 
“ It looks green and sweet enough to eat.” 

“Why, it’s wheat,” answered Ada. “It does 
look nice enough, but it will not amount to half a 
crop if we don’t soon have rain.” 

At this point Fannie forgot herself. She had 
espied some beautiful violets by the roadside. 


134 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Oh, Tom,” she cried. “Do get me some of 
those violets.” 

“Isha’n’t,” stoutly asserted Tom, “unless you 
promise to speak to me again.” 

“Well, haven’t I spoken?” 

“That’s what,” said he. “ Here, driver, stop the 
wagon.” 

“No sir, the seniors will catch us,” squealed 
Willie Seeler. 

“ Aw, pshaw, they haven’t started yet,” growled 
Jim. And he was right, too. 

The wagon was stopped, and Tom fetched the 
violets for Fannie. 

“See the cows,” said Helen. “I always think 
cows look so peaceful and home-like. ’ ’ 

“So do I,” said Corine. 

“How much would a cow like that red one 
bring ?’ ’ asked Rob Hoodley. 

“Well, the prices vary a great deal,” returned 
Hal Lee, to whom he had spoken. 

“ It seems to me I’d hate to part with a cow after 
having owned her a while,” said Helen. 

“ Do you ever sell any ?” queried Jane, turning to 
Ada. 

“Yes, of course we do,” answered she. “We 
farmers have to do something to make a little 
money now and then.” 


A JOLLY TIME. 135 

“Maybe you can tell how much the butcher 
gives for a cow,” said Rob, addressing Ada. 

“I don’t remember just how much they give, 
but they don’t give any too much,” answered she. 

“Well, I’ll bet I’d know how much I was get- 
ting for my stuff,” thought Rob. But he said 
nothing further. 

“This field can’t be so good as the other one we 
saw,” said Hilda. “The color of the stuff is just 
as pretty, but it is not nearly so tall and thrifty.” 

“Well, I guess not,” said Harold; “this is oats, 
and the other was wheat.” 

“ I don’t see why the oats shouldn’t be so tall as 
the wheat, though,” rejoined she. 

“ The very good reason for that is that wheat is 
sown in the fall, and the oats are not put into the 
ground until spring,” laughed Hal. 

“How much oats do you raise on an acre around 
here ? ’ ’ asked Rob. 

“Oh, sometimes as high as sixty and sixty-five 
bushels,” said Hal. 

“Yes, but not when the grasshoppers or the 
army-worms get into them,” added Ada. 

“Does that happen often?” wondered Hilda. 

“Often enough,” replied Ada. 

“Why, we haven’t had any army- worms since 
as far back as I can remember; and the grasshop- 


136 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


pers haven’t bothered either for at least ten years,” 
said Hal. 

‘‘Yes, but once in a lifetime is about all a per- 
son wants to stand.” This of course from Ada. 

They reached the farm at half-past eight, and 
immediately began to make themselves at home. 
Mr. Doner did not rent his part of the farm except 
on condition that the tenant promised to keep it 
looking neat, besides doing his best to raise good 
crops.. He had always taken time and pains to 
keep it neat as long as he lived there himself; and 
he reasoned from that, that another man could do 
the same. He did not have to insist very long 
with Mr. Lee. At first this gentleman had said 
that it would not pay him to farm in that fashion. 
But Mr. Doner had a strong ally in Mrs. Lee, and 
before Peter Lee had been on the place a year he 
learned two things: in the first place, that it did 
in many ways pay him to be Deacon Doner’s tenant; 
and in the second place, that it did not ruin him 
to observe on the farm those rules of order and 
neatness which are so generally observed in the 
pursuit of other occupations. 

The consequence was that his farm did not pre- 
sent the sorry spectacle so often seen : fence cor- 
ners a jungle of weeds and other growth, machines 
standing about in the rain and storm, door-yard 


A JOLLY TIME. 


137 


overrun by chickens and pigs, and barnyard re- 
sembling the Slough of Despond. It was an ideal 
place to visit, and the class did not wait long to 
express their appreciation of the choice made by 
the executive committee and the officers. “This 
is fine,” you could hear them saying everywhere 
they went. 

Helen was greatly pleased, as she had her 
father’s love for the old place. She delighted to 
go out there and find it looking its best, and to 
hear it praised. 

Perhaps Harold was just as well pleased. He 
had inherited his mother’s love for order and neat- 
ness, and was often heard to say what he would do 
if he owned such-and-such a farm. 

“Wait till you’re a few years older,” his neigh- 
bor, Mr. Tansen, had at first told him. “There 
are a few things that you and your folks has got 
to learn yet.” 

When a few years had gone by, and the Tees 
prospered, he would say to the other neighbors, 
“Them Tees has got the biggest luck I ever see.” 
He remained good friends with “ them Tees,” how- 
ever, and often spent his evenings with them. By 
and by he began to feel the influence* of the neatly 
kept place on himself, and one evening, as he and 
wife were driving home, he said : 


138 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

“Say, Susan, let’s us try to keep our place look- 
ing a little better too, eh? What do you say ? ” 

Susan was glad enough to hear him say this, as 
she had been thinking the same thing herself for 
some time. So she said: 

“All right. But don’t you think the neighbors 
will be laughing at us?” 

“There is only one neighbor whose laughing 
would bother me any, and that is Peter Lee, and 
I know he isn’t the kind of man to laugh at a fel- 
low for trying to do what’s right,” answered her 
husband; and thereafter they began to improve 
the looks of their place wonderfully, much to Mr. 
Doner’s delight, who had often urged Eliza and 
Emma to be stricter with their tenant. 

As there was no danger of being soon disturbed 
by the seniors, themiddlers were taking their time 
in examining anything and everything on the 
place that might ppssibly be of any interest to 
them. Harold proudly piloted them about, ex- 
plaining things to them and calling their attention 
to special features. 

“Look here,” he was saying, “how do you like 
our new pig-pens? You see we have arranged 
them so that each kind can be kept separate, and 
we have built shelters over all the stalls. How do 
you like them, Jim?” 


A JOLLY TIME. 139 

“Well,” drawled Jim, “I think I would like 
them pretty well if I were a pig.” 

The girls thought this inexpressibly funny, and 
for a time it was feared that Corine and Helen would 
not quit laughing for the remainder of the day. 
Jim wondered what made them laugh so long, but 
he contented himself by concluding that he had 
said something wonderfully clever, and was happy 
accordingly. 

It took the class about an hour to make its tour 
of inspection. All this while Willie Seeler had 
been casting anxious looks out at the road, expect- 
ing to see the seniors arriving at any moment. But 
he had been afraid to say anything, as he knew 
that Tom and Jim and Harold would laugh at him. 
Now Tom and Jim themselves began to look out, 
as if there might be a possibility of their arriving. 

“Do you think they will be coming soon, 
Tom?” asked Helen. 

“Well, we can’t tell,” said he. “If they have 
followed us straight out they will be along pretty 
soon. I know Ted Briggs. He’s a sharp one, 
and a quick one besides. If they don’t find out 
that we turned the corner, they will, of course, be 
longer getting here. Then too, they may not find 
out that we came here at all. They may think that 
we drove back to town and went up to Viewpoint.” 


140 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Let’s all sit down here on the porch and wait 
and see whether they will turn up,” said Willie; 
and for once in his life he had the joy of seeing his 
advice followed. 

They waited about half an hour, then grew tired 
of waiting, and began to amuse themselves in vari- 
ous ways, well satisfied to have the seniors arrive 
now at any time, since they considered themselves 
highly successful in having bafiled them so well. 

The seniors were indeed having an unlucky time 
of it. They had dashed on up the river road past 
Colonel White’s to the usual fishing-grounds. 
Finding no one there, they began to think the mid- 
dlers were in hiding somewhere, and instituted a 
search of the neighborhood. The middlers were 
not to be seen. Somebody suggested that they en- 
quire of a boy planting corn in a neighboring field. 

“Good,” said Briggs. 

“Hello there, son,” he called. 

“Why don’t you call him moon?” asked one of 
the young ladies. “He don’t appear to be particu- 
larly bright.” 

This occasioned a gush of laughter and hurrahs. 
The boy turned his team around and drove toward 
the other end of the field again. He did not care 
to be laughed at by a set of High School fellows, 
for such he knew the boys to be. 


A JOI.I.Y TIME. 141 

“ Briggs, don’t let him escape,” shouted Franks. 

“No, no, no,” chorused the girls. 

Thus admonished Briggs grew desperate. He 
started across the road, shouting to the boy : 

“Hey there, stranger, hold a bit.” The boy 
drove on. 

Briggs climbed the fence, shouting, “ Say, here’s 
fifty cents for you,” and jumped down on the strip 
of grass that bordered the field within. Here he 
stopped short, not intending to hazard his finely 
polished shoes on the plowed ground. But he had 
stopped too short when he jumped down off the 
fence. The sudden stop of his feet was not followed 
by a corresponding stop of his head and body, and 
he sprawled headlong into the plowed ground. 

The boy, hearing the words “fifty cents,” had 
stopped his team and looked around. But such a 
shout as was raised was enough to make any boy 
distrustful, and he turned away again in disgust. 
He had not seen Briggs fall, and imagined they 
were laughing at him. 

When Briggs returned to the waiting class they 
were trying to be very sober and sympathetic. 
Their success was not brilliant, however. Briggs 
was always so much of a dandy, and so vain of his 
appearance, that secretly they were all quite happy 
that his pride had taken a tumble. 


14 ^ 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“How very unfortunate, Mr. Briggs,” simpered 
one of the young ladies. “Shall we drive to town 
and fetch a physician?” 

“No, I thank you,” quoth the unhappy Briggs. 
“ I think I shall recover if I do not encounter any 
more such stupid boys — or other people like him,” 
he added, spitting out some earth which had en- 
tered his mouth when he fell. As he saw the ill- 
restrained laughter in the faces of his classmates, 
he was angry enough to say anything. 

It was fortunate that Franks noticed a man in 
the field farther down the road, for it was becoming 
highly desirable that something should happen to 
divert their minds from the subject in hand. 
Franks and Soper were sent down to interview the 
man, and soon returned with the intelligence that 
the man had been in the field since early morning 
but had seen nothing of any fishing party. “He 
also sent a message for you, Briggs,” added Soper; 
“he said: ‘Tell the feller as fell ofifen the fence, 
I’ve got a lot of clods in this here field, an’ he can 
have the job o’ breakin’ them, if he wants it.’” 
Soper didn’t care much what he said to Briggs, and 
it must be confessed that even Mr. Boise joined in 
the laugh which followed this thrust. 

There was nothing for the seniors to do but to 
enter their carriages and to face about. 


A JOLLY TIME. 


143 


“I wonder where they have gone, anyway,’’ 
said one. 

“I’ll tell you,” said another. “They’ve gone 
back to town and left on the train while we are out 
here looking for them.” 

“Oh, I forgot to say anything about a paper I 
found in the school-yard yesterday,” said one of 
the girls. “I have it in my purse this minute. 
Here it is,” and she produced a piece of letter 
paper and handed it to Sam Soper. It was a piece 
of a note. 

“That’s Hilda Trapp’s writing, if I know any- 
thing when I see it,” said Mabel Weyers. “Read 
it, Sam.” 

“It’s torn off above and below,” answered he, 
“but I’ll read what there is of it: 

“‘ham, pickles, bologna, twelve cakes, olives, 
vanilla, and three cans of jam. Be sure not to for- 
get any of them. Bring them all down to Fannie’s 
to-night, and be sure you drive up the back way, as 
I have reason to believe they have spies out already 
to-day watching us. When we get out to the farm 
we will put every — ’ ” 

Sam stopped reading. 

“Well, go ahead,” said Clara Berks. 

“I cannot possibly do so, my friends,” said Sam. 
“My powers of reading any further are absolutely 


144 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


overcome — by the fact that here endeth this inter- 
esting epistle, at least so far as we have it in hand.’’ 

“Well, well, well. The question now is, what 
does it mean,” said Franks. 

“ That’s right,” said Sam. “ How are we going 
to find out, though ?’ ’ 

“I see through the whole thing,” spoke up 
Mabel. “Took here; it’s this. You know down 
the road where we passed the big red barn that Sam 
said looked like a hippopotamus? Well, that’s 
where old Colonel White lives, and there the road 
turns off to the east By going down that road 
some way, you reach the Doner farm, and that’s 
where they have gone. I just know it. I don’t 
remember the way you go, but I know you can get 
there by that road, because I was out riding one 
evening with Corine Hereford and her mother, and 
we drove down that way, and they showed me a 
place and said it was the old Doner farm.” 

“ I believe you’re right,” said Sam. “ Any way 
we can go back as far as the Colonel’s, and inquire 
there whether they saw any crowd going that way.” 

They drove rapidly down the road. When they 
reached the big red barn they drew up and accosted 
a man who was working in the stable-yard. 

“Say, Mister,” called Sam, “is Colonel White 
at home?” 


A JOLLY TIME. 


145 


“I don’t allow as he is.” 

“Well, have you been around here for the last 
two hours?” 

“Well, I ’low I have.” 

“ Have you seen anything of a big wagon going 
past here?” 

“Yep, ’low I have.” 

“Was it loaded full?” 

“ It were, yes sir.” 

“ Did you notice who was in it?” 

“Well, they was a big feller drivin’.” 

“Yes, but the rest of the load.” 

“Well, I’low he must of had at leastways some 
fifteen er sixteen.” 

“ That must be they,” said Mabel aside. 

“ Did they go right down east here ?” continued 
Sam. 

“Nope. They went west acrost the bridge 
there.” 

“That knocks our calculations all to pieces,” 
said Clara. 

“Just wait a bit. I’ll ask him some more,” said 
Sam. “Say, did you notice how many were boys 
and how many were girls?” 

“Why, ’twerea load o’ sheep,” said he of the 
barnyard. 

“ That’s the middlers, sure,” said Franks. Only 
10 


146 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


tlie fear of the consequences kept them all from 
laughing outright at this. But they did not wish 
to repeat their experience with the boy out at the 
fishing-grounds; so they remained quiet as well as 
they could, and Sam began again. 

“ Did you see any other wagon?” 

“What kind?” 

“ Oh, a big one with four horses.” 

‘ ‘ What color wheels ?’ ’ 

“ Bless me, I don’t know. Yellow, I guess.” 

“What kind o’ bosses?” 

“Why two white ones, and two gray,” said 
Franks. 

“ What color wagon-body?” 

“Why, red I believe,” continued Franks. (Sam 
was glad to get out of the conversation.) “It was 
the band-wagon from Riverton we mean.” 

“Oh, was they a musicianer crowd in it? ” 

“No. A crowd of boys and girls.” 

“ No ole folks? ” 

“Well, yes. Two.” 

“ Two men ? ’ ’ 

“No. A gentleman and a lady.” 

“ Didn’t have only three horses? ” 

“No, had four.” 

“Well, I ain’t seen no sech wagon.” 

“Did you see one with three horses?” Franks 


A JOLI.Y TIME. 147 

thought perhaps he had made a mistake about the 
number. 

“ Nope. Ain’t seen no sech one nuther.” 

“The great big idiot, I’d like to smash his head 
for him,” growled Briggs. 

“Well, may be you could if you’d get up on the 
fence and fall on him,” suggested Soper. 

The man went ahead with his fence-repairing, 
and the seniors were once more hopelessly at a 
loss. 

“I move we risk it. Let’s drive on down to the 
Doner farm. It’s the best thing we can do,” said 
Sam. 

They were just jerking the reins up on the horses 
to start them, when the man called out ; 

“Say, Colonel White ’lowed he see sech a 
wagon as ye say pass this mornin’. I was in the 
barn pitchin’ down hay to the critters wen it passed, 
an’ couldn’t shin down spry enough to git a squint 
at ’em.” 

“Did he say they went east?” began Sam again. 

“ ’Low he did.” 

“ Well, can you tell us the way to the old Doner 
farm?” 

“’Low I kin.” 

“Which way do we go?” 

“East.” 


148 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“ Yes, I know. But bow far?” 

“Ye said, wich way.” 

“ I know I did. That was my mistake. How 
far do we go?” 

“ ^Bout seven mile if ye go right.” 

“Why, isn’t it a straight road?” 

“Nope, you make some turns.” 

“Well, will you please tell us just how to get 
ourselves there in the quickest possible time?” 

“ ’Tow by goiu’ in yer wagons.” 

“I mean the road.” 

“Well, every mile down east here on this road 
they is a cross-road. Ye go down three mile, an’ 
at the crossin’ they is a school-house. Ye don’t 
turn off there, but keep right straight on. Two 
mile futher ye come to wat be called the Bloomin’ - 
ville pike. But ye don’t want ter go that fur, 
’cause they’s another way that’s nearder. Wen ye 
git four mile out from here, ye’ll strike the ole 
slant road. Ye turn to the right on that, an’ fol- 
ler it ’bout two mile. There ye strike the River- 
ton pike, turn west on that, an’ in ’bout a mile ye 
strike the ole Doner place.” 

“ Is that all ? ” 

“’Tow ’tis.” 

“ I should think that were enough,” said Mabel. 
“Why are you asking for more, Sammy?” 


A JOI.I.Y TIME. 


149 


“Well, I’ve forgotten about all he told me, and 
I thought if he kept it up a while longer I’d re- 
member some of it at least” 

“Drive on,” growled Briggs. “I don’t see 
why you wanted to talk to that old duffer over 
half an hour any way. He doesn’t know anything. ’ ’ 

“ I’ll bet he knows how to climb a fence without 
chewing the clods on the other side, anyhow,” 
put in Soper ; at which Briggs grew all the 
glummer, and the others indulged in another bois- 
terous effusion of mirth. 

“ ’Low that’s so,” said Mabel. And that brought 
out a spell of laughter at the expense of the old man. 

“ I declare, it’s a shame to laugh at him, when 
he took such pains to direct us right,” said Clara. 

“Don’t you worry about the old man,” said 
Franks. “He’s having a great big guffaw at our 
expense right now, and he’ll tell his children and 
children’s children about how he fooled us, all the 
rest of his born days.” 

After much inquiring along the way, they finally 
reached the farm at about a. quarter past twelve. 
The middlers had dinner all ready for them, and 
they soon lost their sadness and fatigue among the 
good things spread out for them. The day was a 
pronounced success, and at a late hour they all re- 
turned to Riverton, tired and happy. 


CHAPTER X. 


COMMENCEMENT. 

This example of the middlers’ shrewdness be- 
came known throughout the town, and thereafter 
you could hear people everywhere talking about 
“those smart middlers.” The name was not in- 
appropriate in other respects than this one, for they 
were a bright class throughout their studies, aver- 
aging quite a bit higher than any preceding middle 
class in the history of the school. Rob and Posey 
had been doing wonderfully well, and the others 
had all improved steadily. There had been as good 
individual scholars in former classes, but for all- 
around excellence, the class of ’8i as middlers 
could hardly be surpassed. The result was that 
when they reached the end of the year the examin- 
ations were passed, not in a sensational blaze of 
glory, with individual per cents, above one hun- 
dred, but in a solid fashion that brought the class 
average up to ninety and three-fifths per cent. 
With this record they became seniors. 

It can readily be understood that, with a training 

(150) 


COMMENCEMENT. 


I51 

such as was indicated by these figures, their work 
as seniors was excellent. They approached the 
final examination with a perfect confidence in 
their ability to bear its severest hardships. As this 
confidence was not a vain pride in their own pow- 
ers, but a reasonable reliance on a foundation 
which had been well built up from the very begin- 
ning, the trust which they so placed was not mis- 
placed. 

If scholars and teachers generally would only 
bear this in mind, they might spare themselves all 
of that torturing anxiety that almost always keeps 
them worried half to death for weeks before exam- 
ination time; they would likewise spare themselves 
much of that humiliation which becomes theirs in 
a year or two after examinations, when they and 
others discover that all they once pretended to know 
has vanished away without as much as saying, 
“Excuse me, please,” or leaving a card to show 
that it has been about. 

The examinations this year drew larger crowds 
than usual. It was the twenty-fifth anniversary of 
the erection of the High School building. Invita- 
tions to be present and to help make the festival a 
success had been sent to all the former graduates 
whose whereabouts could be determined. They had 
come in large numbers in response to this call. In 


152 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

consequence, our seniors had a critical audience to 
face during examinations and commencement ex- 
ercises. 

The examinations were oral and were not taken 
as a basis for graduation, the scholars being judged 
by their work during the whole school year. The 
public examinations took place on Monday and 
Tuesday of commencement week. On Monday 
evening the annual banquet given by the seniors 
to the teachers was celebrated at the “ Hotel River- 
ton.” Tuesday evening was set apart for the busi- 
ness and social meeting of the Alumni and Alum- 
nae. The commencement exercises proper took 
place on Wednesday evening at the “Riverton 
Public Hall,” a well arranged and commodious 
building which had been erected for the especial 
purpose of accommodating meetings, lectures, com- 
mencements, and the like. 

Public opinion in Riverton was against the cus- 
tom of using the churches for these purposes. This 
had formerly been done; but, after a number of 
prominent citizens, with Mr. Doner at their head, 
had pointed out the inappropriateness of using 
God’s house for purposes not strictly sacred, and 
often the direct opposite, public opinion reached 
the conviction that a change should by all means 
be made. A stock company was formed, and the 


COMMENCEMENT. 


153 

“Riverton Public Hall ” was built. It was a suc- 
cess at oiice, and paid a fair profit to its promoters, 
besides satisfying them that they had done some- 
thing for the honor of God’s house and the eleva- 
tion of the moral sense of the community. 

Riverton took a great pride in its commence- 
ments. On Sunday evening St Luke’s was 
crowded to the very doors with a fine representa- 
tion of the town’s and the surrounding country’s 
people. Pastor Denton had been selected to deliver 
the baccalaureate sermon for this year. He deliv- 
ered a sermon, too, not merely a scholarly address. 
He had considered it his duty to preach God’s 
Word to these youngpeople, and not simply to make 
an exhibition of his attainments before the many 
strangers visiting his church that evening. 

He took as his text the words, “The fear of the 
Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” At the outset 
he spoke of the object of our lives, saying that it 
cannot be attained without true education. He 
said that education was the acquiring of wisdom. 
He showed how there is a vast difference between 
true wisdom and simple learning. He established 
from Scripture that there can be no real wisdom 
without the fear of the Lord. 

He explained who this Lord is, not only a 
Supreme Being, but the Supreme Being who has 


154 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


manifested himself in the Holy Bible, and as he 
has manifested himself in this Bible, namely the 
Triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, three 
distinct persons in one essence, loving a sinful 
world, the Son assuming our flesh, becoming true 
man without ceasing to be God, redeeming our 
souls by becoming our substitute both in the bear- 
ing of our punishment and in the fulflllment of the 
law for us. 

He continued by showing what is meant by the 
fear of the Lord ; not only a knowledge of Him and 
His mercy, not only in addition to such knowledge 
the acceptance of His Word as the objective truth, 
but, above all, an acceptance of this Saviour and of 
His salvation as a personal subjective possession of 
the inmost soul, and a placing of the heart’s flrm- 
est confidence on Him in all matters, whether 
temporal or spiritual. 

He closed with a strong plea, urging all his audi- 
ence, and especially the class, to give ear to God’s 
voice, and begin aright by allowing God to lay in 
their hearts, as the foundation for all wisdom, the 
fear of the Lord. 

The sermon was well received and seemed to 
produce a profound impression. The preaching of 
God’s true Word always does impress the hearer. 
We have God’s promise that it will. In spite of 


COMMENCEMENT. 


155 


this we still find so many of God’s prophets who 
seem to think that by arguments of their own they 
can produce the desired results sooner and better. 
And is it not often the case, where God’s servant 
has determined not to know anything except Christ 
and Him crucified, that the pressure brought to 
bear upon him by those whose souls’ keeping has 
been entrusted to his care becomes so great in its 
demand that he preach something else, that he is 
forced to yield? Is it any wonder that people’s 
faith is so unstable, and that therefore men are los- 
ing confidence in the efficacy of God’s Word really 
and powerfully to touch the heart ? 

As you and I have no invitations to attend the 
banquet on Monday evening and the meeting on 
Tuesday everting, we will have to stay away. I 
think, however, we may safely conclude that both 
were entirely successful, judging from the remarks 
we hear on the following mornings. 

The commencement on Wednesday evening is 
open to all, and that we will now attend. In those 
days it was still custom at Riverton that each one 
of the graduates appeared in some role on the pro- 
gramme. It made the exercises somewhat lengthy, 
it is true, but those who had come to hear them 
were interested mainly in the young people, and 
did not seriously object to the lengthy feature. 


156 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


For fear that I might slight any of your special 
friends in the narration of this story, I will repro- 
duce the programme exactly as it was rendered 
that day. Here it is. 

PROGRAMME. 


32 d ANNUAE COMMENCEMENT, 

RIVERTON HIGH SCHOOE, 

June 15TH, 1881. 

Music Riveriofi Orchestra, 

Prayer Rev. Charles J. Camper. 

Music — Piano Bliss Ethel Boise. 

Salutatory • ... Fannie E. Drew. 

Oration — Washington, the Patriot William Seeler. 

Essay — Eove of the Beautiful Rose Ber7ier. 

Song — The Brook BIrs. J. W. Carr. 

Oration— Our Country Harold J. Lee. 

Essay — Home, Sweet Home Helen F. Do7ier. 

Oration — “Me Too” Corine Hereford. 

Essay — Clouds • . Robert Fleet Hoodley. 

Duett — Earboard Watch . Bfessrs. F. Smith and Jas.Scranton. 

Oration — “ On the Fence” James BI. Stevens. 

Essay— Eoop Holes Blary H. Charman. 

Essay— Over the Alps Eieth Thine Italy . . . .Jane Armster. 
Piano— Four Hands . . . Misses Ethel Boise and Alice Brown. 

Oration — True Heroes John Perkins. 

Class History Bfilda Trapp. 

Class Prophecy Ada Lansen. 

Valedictory Thomas Green. 

Statistics Principal Boise. 

Conferring of Diplomas Pres't Board oj Education. 

Benediction Rev.J. J. Dawes. 

Music Orchestra. 

This programme was faithfully carried out as it 

is here given; and, to be perfectly candid, it must 


COMMENCEMENT. 


157 


be said that it was listened to with most evident 
interest and pleasure. 

The music, excepting that of the orchestra, was 
furnished by undergraduates and former graduates 
of the school. 

Fannie’s salutatory was a very happy innovation 
on the usual cut-and-dried affair bearing that 
breezy name. People were somewhat surprised to 
find themselves really interested already in the 
salutatory, but afterwards they said, ‘‘We might 
have known it. That Fannie Drew is always 
doing something original.” 

Willie Seeler’s oration was a great deal more 
forceful than any of his friends had expected. 

Posey Berner had found a subject exactly suited 
to her taste, and, although she did not handle it 
with a specially marked degree of ability or with 
much depth of thought, still her essay was “quite 
fetching,” as she herself would have expressed it. 

Harold’s speech is sufficiently explained by his 
subject, and, inasmuch as it is always said that we 
Americans have the special weakness of liking to 
hear ourselves and our “ land of the free and the 
home of the brave” extolled to the skies, it can 
readily be surmised that his address “ took ” well, 
for he breathed never a word against our country 
or her institutions. 


158 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

The next two numbers on the programme we 
will notice specially in a separate chapter. They 
were deserving of especial notice, and were both 
printed in full that week in the “Riverton Weekly 
Gazette.’’ 

Then comes Rob Hoodley’s. The girls declared 
that his mother had selected his subject for him, as 
she was a quite sentimental woman, and Rob 
treated his subject rather sentimentally. Be that 
as it may, he succeeded in moving his audience to 
tears more than once, and felt that he had achieved 
a great success. We are not far from the truth 
when we say that his mother thought that her 
Robert had done better than any of the others. 
But, for that matter, what mother there that even- 
ing did not think the same of her child? And after 
all, isn’t that a mother’s undisputed privilege? 

Everybody smiled as genial Jim Stevens, round 
and jolly as ever, arose at the announcement of his 
comical subject. Jim handled his theme in a man- 
ner, too, that was not calculated to chase these 
smiles away. For half the time allotted to him he 
kept his hearers in a perfect roar of merriment. 
Then, without their seeming to know how he did 
it, he let them safely down to soberer ground, 
where he kept them for the remainder of his time. 
He ended leaving them quite absorbed in a train of 


COMMENCEMENT. 


159 


sober reflections. They hardly knew that he had 
ended, and when they did discover the fact their 
smiles returned and they broke out into a burst of 
deafening applause. That boy is a born orator,’* 
one of the old wise-acres was heard to remark. 
Then the story began to be whispered around that 
he was “ going to be a minister,” and the men said, 
“Good !” and the women said, “ How nice ! How 
proud his mother must be !” 

It was a little bit difficult for Mary Charnian to 
get the audience interested in her philosophical 
paper after that. But it was a courteous and good- 
natured audience, and she did not for a moment 
suspect she was not making the hit of the evening. 

Jane Armster’s would-be hopeful effusion passed 
muster before the same gracious review, and was 
all the more heartily applauded because it brought 
the promise of refreshing music at its close. 

John Perkins’ sermon — so named by his facetious 
classmates (seniors always at least try to be face- 
tious) — was a remarkably strong address. Similar 
subjects had before that been treated by Riverton 
High School graduates, but never before with such 
animation, such earnest, convincing eloquence, 
such forcible logic. He spoke like a hero. He 
was a hero, a specimen of the one and only true 
kind, the hero that is recognized as such of God. 


i6o 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Milda, the precise, performed the customary 
functions of class historian. She did this in her 
usual exact manner, and so fittingly that Rosie for 
once wished she were more precise about things. 

Then came the wonderful, mysterious, but per- 
fectly harmless thing known as the class-prophecy. 
You would have been surprised at Ada; indeed, I 
believe you would not have known her at all. 
There was not a vestige of that old narrow, dark, 
complaining spirit, scenting only danger and see- 
ing only the dark side of things. Ada had finally 
begun to feel the spirit of that Christianity of which 
she had all along known only the letter. Education 
was not without its effect, either; and Ada looked 
out over the future of the class of ’8i with cheerful 
hope, yet not with the foolish conviction that they 
would all be carried sky-ward and heaven-ward 
bedded on rose-leaves, resting in mid-air, with not 
a speck of earth’s dust to soil their raiment, and 
not a moment of earth’s toil and sorrow to disturb 
the tranquil smoothness of their lives. 

Tom’s valedictory was an appropriate ending of 
the class programme. When they had rehearsed 
their essays and orations before each other during 
the weeks preceding the commencement, the girls 
had said, “Why, Tom, you talk as if you were our 
father.” Out of his honest, manly heart Tom had 


COMMENCEMENT. 


l6l 


answered, “Well, do you know? I kind o’ feel as 
if I were a sort of father to the class, having been 
temporary chairman for three whole years.” He 
certainly did talk like a father to his children. 
People’s verdict was, “It’s refreshing to find so 
much good sense and earnestness in a young fellow 
like that in these days. I wish my boy were half 
as steady as this Green seems to be.” 

The statistics read by the principal contained a 
great deal which we already know. I will add 
only one remark, which he made at the close. He 
said: “When I was about to give this class their 
last term-reports, I told them that there were seven 
in the class whose scholarship averages for the 
whole High School course were so nearly the same, 
that fractions would have to be split very closely to 
determine who held the highest honors. I then 
proceeded to tell them what they already knew from 
their previous reports, who these seven were. 
Then, before I could proceed with said splitting of 
fractions, one of the young ladies included in the 
seven arose to request the postponement of the an- 
nouncement of the result until the class should 
have had a meeting. I complied with this request, 
wondering what its significance might be. The 
meeting was held that same evening. When I 
met the class on the following morning, again pre- 


II 


i 62 her place assigned. 

pared to deliver their last reports and read their 
standing to them, the president of the class, in the 
name of the seven, requested that I agree not to 
read the reports in public this year. Appreciating 
the feeling in which this request was made, (re- 
member that this was before the seven knew their 
relative positions in the list for first honors), I will- 
ingly granted the favor as preferred, and for that 
reason I refrain from giving these figures to the 
public to-night.” 

As he finished, a murmur of admiration ran 
through the audience. I cannot withhold my own 
admiration for this unselfishness, especially since 
the principal told me afterwards that the seven 
were all equally satisfied even after they learned 
the result. But I must confess that I have always 
been curious to know whose fraction was the high- 
est, and so on, even if the differences were but 
trifles. You are curious to know, too, no doubt. 
But let us restrain our curiosity and go forward to 
congratulate the young people, and to congratulate 
them all the more warmly for having in their 
number seven young people who cared more for 
each other than for the public’s praise and the 
honor that would accrue from having their names 
announced as standing at the head of the list. 

I cannot, however, forbear telling you who the 


COMMENCEMEN'T. 


163 

seven were. Some of them you can guess your- 
selves; but I will give you a complete list, and you 
can have the pleasure of saying, “I told you so.’’ 
Here they are: Tom, Jim, and John, of the boys; 
Corine, Helen, Fannie, and Milda, of the girls. 

Let us hope that the others, who did not share 
in the highest grade, did share in this same spirit 
of unselfishness, and that this manifestation of a 
beautiful trait in these scholars will prove an earn- 
est for their later lives, promising that, wherever 
they are and whatever they undertake, they will 
be guided by the spirit of Him who has said, 
Love one another,” 


CHAPTER XL 


TWO ADDRESSES. 

I. 

“HOME, SWEET HOME.” 

An Essay. 

BY HEIyEN DONER. 

‘ ‘ Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh.” My heart is abundant with thoughts 
on a subject that assuredly has a right to demand 
an entrance into any heart. Therefore, of it my 
mouth shall speak. That subject is — The Home. 

There are three main reasons why we should 
consent to allow this subject to occupy a chief 
room in our thoughts. 

The first reason is the beauty and the blessing of 
the home. Who of you has ever seen a more 
beautiful, a sweeter picture, than that which is 
presented by a rightly ordered home-life? No 
poet, no painter, no sculptor, has ever produced its 
like. No dissatisfied boy or girl, leaving home 
for other places, which in imagination are so much 
finer, has ever found the reality to accord with the 
imagination. The beauty of the home is beyond 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


165 

comparison. However, its beauty is, if anything, 
even surpassed by its value as a blessed influence 
upon mankind. The final judgment alone will re- 
veal how many souls have been saved under the 
blessed influence of the home. Still, he were blind 
or prejudiced indeed, who already before that day 
would not say, “ I see the blessings of the home.’’ 

The second reason is the necessity of the home. 
It is not only a sweet influence here on earth, it is 
an absolute necessity. It is the foundation of all 
other social institutions. It underlies the idea of 
all order and government in the state and in the 
church. 

The third reason is that the home is in danger. 
Yes, a terrible danger is menacing the home to- 
day. This danger arises on the one hand from 
willfulness, and on the other hand from ignorance. 
I say from willfulness, because it certainly seems 
as though people were willfully spreading opinions 
and contracting habits that will as surely destroy 
the home, as disease will destroy the most perfect 
specimen of physical life. Let us hope that, in 
spite of this threatening danger, we may keep our 
homes. 

But while we hope and pray for the preservation 
of these homes, let us not forget that “ to us He 
gives the keeping of the lights along the shore,” 


i66 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


and let us least of all because of ignorance fail in 
doing our duty toward keeping our homes. How 
few really know what the home is, wherein its 
charm consists, where lies the secret of its power 
and its beauty. 

It may seem strange, now, that a mere High 
School girl should wish on this subject to in- 
struct men and women, many of whom long ago 
founded homes, and who have successfully and 
happily maintained them for more years than she 
herself has lived. Her purpose is not, however, 
to give sage advice and much new startling inform- 
ation. She wishes simply to bring the subject 
with its old truths once more before your minds. 

This she proposes to do not in a manner in which 
soundness is sacrificed to sentimentality, and logic 
and truth to beauty, but in a straightforward 
matter-of-fact way, of which she hopes that it will 
not disappoint those who, from a glance at her 
subject, have been led to expect a poetical present- 
ation of pretty ideas, but that it will carry con- 
viction to all. ‘‘Home, sweet home” is a beauti- 
ful thing, but it cannot exist without a foundation 
of practical thoughts. The fairest lily grows up 
out of the blackest soil. The reddest-breasted 
robin still subsists on food that is, to say the least, 
rather below our ideas of palatableness. So let us 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


167 


not be surprised if we find that to have the beauty 
and the music of “Home, sweet home” we must 
learn some practical truths, and some truths that 
are very objectionable to our own reason. 

How can we have homes that are homes in 
truth? Just as we have other things that are what 
they are intended to be. To become entirely prosy, 
just as we have buildings and railroads and the 
commonest things. How do we go about having 
them? We inform ourselves as to what compon- 
ents are necessary, and then set ourselves about 
combining those components, assigning each to its 
proper place and relation to the others. This is 
the way to have homes. No matter if the home is 
the highest of earthly blessings, it can be had as 
easily as the commonest. But now, what is neces- 
sary to constitute a home ? 

I answer, in the first place, religion. Religion 
must be the life, the ruling spirit, and the founda- 
tion of the home. It must be present as that won- 
derful relation that it in reality is, the relation of 
God and men to each other. It must be part of 
the home, not only as the law and guide of the 
household, but also as their consolation and salva- 
tion, God must be in the home as an object of 
daily worship, of daily love, and of daily trust, and 
at the same time as the subject of the daily life. 


i68 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


The next figure in the ideal home should be the 
father. He is the visible head of the family, 
anointed as its prophet, priest, and king by Him 
who has founded all home life. But if the father 
would occupy the position of the head, he should 
also act the part of the head, in order truthfully to 
be this important component of the home. It is 
true, the head is not always competent to rule the 
body. Some heads have lost their power. In 
these cases our charitable judgment is expressed 
when we in sadness say they are deranged. The 
same sad truth must sometimes be expressed of the 
father as the head of the family. When a man de- 
grades himself through cruelty, drunkenness, and 
other shame and vice, he becomes unfit to rule his 
house. Perhaps it is no wonder that so many people 
wish to change the proper order of things, and insist 
that the man is not the head of the family, because 
this sometimes happens. Yet it would be mani- 
festly unfair to say that because some heads are not 
capable, therefore the head has ceased to be the 
chief part of our bodies. Just as unfair would it be 
to say that, because some fathers have not acted 
their parts well, therefore the father is no longer 
by divine right the head of the family. By saying 
so we lose a chief component of the home, and en- 
danger the home’s existence. No family can have 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


169 


a real home unless it has a head, and it will never 
have a head when man and woman spend their 
married life arguing the point as to who shall hold 
that position. 

By this I do not mean to say that the woman 
fills an unimportant place in the home. The old 
question is still in force, “What is home without a 
mother?” And the answer is just the same as it 
always has been, “It is not home at all.” The 
mother’s place is, if anything, more important than 
the father’s. That air of sweetness and sacredness 
which is so difficult to express by words, yet which 
so largely makes home home, it is her privilege 
almost alone to give to it. Why then should 
women complain because the position and duties 
assigned to them as mothers are not the same as 
those of fathers, seeing theirs are so much higher? 

Next in the home I would mention the children. 
Bless the little ones ! If all people only knew what 
treasures they are. But, alas ! some children look 
back with a shudder to the days when they were 
still under the parental roof, just because their 
parents did not recognize what treasures children 
are. For the same reason some families spend all 
their lives in childless homes, and then curse God 
because He has made their lives unhappy. Ah, if 
this human race would only hasten to arrive at the 


170 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


conclusion, “Children are an heritage of the 
Lord,’’ how much more happiness this earth 
might see ! But at the same time children should 
remember their station and its duties, otherwise 
they may prove destroyers of the home, and not its 
builders. 

Indeed, I might as well introduce just at this 
place the thought that to make a home requires 
not the simple presence of these component parts 
and their promiscuous jumbling together, but their 
perfect adjustment to each other, their perfect 
adaptation to their spheres, and their faithful and 
harmonious performance of their respective duties 
in their different spheres. What these duties all 
are I have not time and room to mention. 

One thing, though, I do wish to mention yet, 
and that is the place in which these members of 
the home perform their parts. The house and its 
surroundings certainly dare not be forgotten in this 
essay. What kind of quarters should the home 
occupy ? 

I answer, no quarters are too fine, too beautiful, 
too stately, too grand, for this heavenly guest on 
earth. It is noble enough to fill with perfect 
dignity the world’s grandest palaces and her love- 
liest gardens. Yet its nobility is of such nature as 
to fill without loss of either its sacred sweetness or 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


I71 

its divine dignity the humblest cottage on the low- 
liest street. I^et us in the choice of a fitting setting 
for the home bear only this in mind, that it is 
worth our best efforts in art and beauty, in neatness 
and cleanliness. How many homes have lost their 
attractiveness, and with it their benign influence, 
through carelessness in the planning and furnishing 
and decorating of the house and grounds. With 
care and taste and labor and patience, what blessed 
spots these homes can be ! 

Oh, “home, home, sweet, sweet home!” My 
friends, I would rather be the lowliest servant in a 
peaceful, happy home, than be a proud and mighty 
monarch — homeless. Man, woman, child, no 
earthly position for which you can strive is higher 
than this, that you be a true member of the home. 
Oh, that all men and women on earth might have 
hearts willing and apt to see and appreciate the 
value of true home life, and, in addition, minds 
and hands ready and strong to found true homes, 
homes in which there were acknowledgment of 
God’s supreme Fatherhood, and of His authority to 
define and fix the responsibilities of father and 
mother and child. Then we might, throughout 
this cheerless vale of tears, feel a promise of that 
everlasting home, that “building of God, an house 
not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.” 


172 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


11 . 

“ME TOO.” 

An Oration. 

BY CORINE HEREFORD. 

This subject was suggested to me by the memory 
of a small boy who used to live next door to us, 
and whose counterpart has undoubtedly lived next 
door to a great many of you — perhaps even under 
the same roof with you, or shall I say within the 
same self? Whenever anybody within this boy’s 
hearing proposed doing something or expressed a 
wish or an intention to have something, the words 
of this subject popped from his lips. 

His big brother would be saying, “ I believe I’ll 
go fishing to-day.” ”Me too,” would come the 
interruption. His mother would call him to her 
and say, “Now, I want you to be a good boy. 
Papa and I are going out for a little drive.” “ Me 
too,” would burst from his lips, accompanied by a 
tremendous howl. His sister would say, “I want 
you boys to behave this evening, I’m going to have 
company in the parlor.” “Me too,” would come 
in the infallible refrain. 

Now, I perceive that you are all smiling at this 
irrepressible youngster. You may be surprised 
when I tell you that I have not introduced him to- 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


173 


night to be laughed at but to be patterned after. I 
have come before you, not to say “Me too” as a 
quotation expressing a trait which I despise, but to 
say it and to sound it, to repeat it and to rehearse it, 
as my own sentiment. And I hope I may be able 
to do this in so convincing a manner, that at the 
close of this address I shall have part of this au- 
dience saying “ Me too” as emphatically as I say it 
myself, and the other half acknowledging that we 
have a perfect right and just reason to say it. Per- 
haps you will divine my purpose when I explain 
that, if I succeed in dividing this audience into 
these two parts, one of them will be composed en- 
tirely of women and the other exclusively of men. 

What does our small boy mean when he says, 
“Me too?” Simply this, that somebody else has 
possessions or is enjoying privileges that he thinks 
he has a right to share in; or, whether he has that 
right or not, he is at least certain that he has a de- 
sire for such share. 

Now, when I divided this audience so that the 
men and women in it were opposed to each other, 
I certainly did not put myself on the men’s side. I 
am standing on woman’s side. We as women are 
saying “Me too.” At whom do you suppose we 
are saying it? At the only ones who are not 
women, and that of course means the men. 


174 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


To make few words of the whole case, the matter 
is simply this, that we women think that the men 
have long been in exclusive possession of certain 
desirable fields and in the enjoyment of certain de- 
sirable privileges, in which we know that we have 
a desire to share, and in whose possession and enjoy- 
ment we are fully convinced that we have a perfect 
right to participate. What these fields and privi- 
leges are, and why we have this desire for represent- 
ation in them, and why we think we have this 
right, I shall now proceed to show. 

In the first place, as to what are the fields and 
privileges I have in mind, there can be little ques- 
tioning. You all know from long experience with 
the customs and institutions of the present days 
what they are. Still, it behooves me to mention 
them. Let us in the first instance look at the pro- 
fessions and occupations. Why should not women 
be allowed to enter them on a perfect equality with 
men? But what are the facts in the case? I will 
read you some United States statistics of 1870. In 
that year women had finally succeeded in entering 
into the professions and occupations to the following 
extent: There were five hundred and twenty-seven 
doctors, twenty-four dentists, five lawyers, sixty- 
seven preachers, one architect, four hundred and 
twelve sculptors and painters, one hundred and 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


175 


fifty-nine writers, thirty-five journalists, five thous- 
and seven hundred and thirty-five musicians, six 
hundred and ninety-two actresses, seven shorthand 
writers, eight thousand and sixteen secretaries and 
clerks, that were women. There were no female 
book-keepers, nor any such surveyors and en- 
gineers. Compare these figures with those which 
tell how many men were active in these various 
pursuits, and you will all acknowledge that the 
number of women mentioned is indeed insignificant 
and paltry. 

Leaving these fields, let us ask what has been 
woman’s position in the state, the church, and the 
family. It has always been a subordinate one. She 
has not been allowed to preach, except in very rare 
instances, and only by certain denominations. She 
has not had a vote in the management of church 
affairs. She has not been allowed to hold office in 
the state, and her way to the ballot-box has been 
barred; while in the family she has been told that 
the man is the head and the ruler, and that she 
must be subject to him in everything. 

The same lack of freedom is seen in her very 
dress. Whenever she makes the least approach to 
dress-reform, she is assailed with the cry of “man- 
nishness,” whatever that may be. 

But why mention any more? It must surely be 


176 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


plain to you all that men have been occupying al- 
most exclusively just those fields, and for that 
reason enjoying almost exclusively just those priv- 
ileges, which are most desirable to us as intelligent 
human beings. This requires no further proof. It 
is true that the figures for the year 1880 would show 
a marked increase over those of 1870, but they do 
not show so large a gain that we are ready to stop 
crying “Me too.’’ And when it is remembered 
that what we have gained has been stubbornly con- 
tested inch for inch, it will readily be noticed that 
the enemy has not been put to rout by any means. 
No, there is still room and reason for crying “ Me 
too.” 

But have we a right to do so ? What shall deter- 
mine whether we have or not ? A few questions 
may serve to lead us to a fair understanding of this 
part of the subject. I ask in the first place, how 
can it be proved that men alone have a right to 
enter these fields? Where are their letters-patent ? 
Where are their land grants? Where is their 
authority to prohibit immigration into the ter- 
ritory they occupy? Instead of asking whether 
we women have a right to enter these fields, 
let us rather ask why we have no right there. 
Let us throw the burden of the proof on the other 
parties to the controversy. They boast of their su- 


TWO ADDRESSES. 


177 


perior strength and ability. Let them prove these 
by furnishing an answer to this question, Why 
does the field belong entirely to them ? 

As a second question I will ask, Is woman not 
able to bear the burdens that these callings would 
lay upon her? Is her mind too weak ? Is her in- 
sight not keen enough? Is her enterprise not dar- 
ing enough ? Are her reasoning powers too slow of 
action ? It is almost an insult to put these questions 
to an intelligent audience. Everyone who has ob- 
served the movements of woman’s mind knows 
that in many of these respects it is the superior of 
man’s, and in most of the others its equal. And 
as to woman’s purity in morals, a thing so much to 
be desired in political life, what man of them all 
does not blush for shame at the very suggestion of 
a comparison of the moral traits of the average 
political promoter, to whom is delegated the man- 
agement of campaigns, with those of his friends 
among womankind? Yet, to these pure-minded 
women he says, “You have no right to enter poli- 
tics.” Again, as to the earnestness and faithful- 
ness required for a proper administration of the 
office of the holy ministry, are these not just those 
traits for which women in all ages have been 
famed ? And what of that tenderness and sympa- 
thy that are so indispensable to the preacher and 


13 


178 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


pastor ? Are they not the inborn characteristics of 
every woman ? Even now I have not yet men- 
tioned her wonderful natural aptness to teach. 

Give me woman’s pity, and I will show you the 
fittest physician. Give me woman’s eye for beauty 
and grace, and I will show you the fittest painter 
and sculptor. Give me woman’s understanding in 
matters of human nature, and I will show you the 
fittest writer. And so on throughout the list. 

In short, show me what a man is able to do, and 
for woman I will say, “Me too.” Show me what 
he has a right to do, and again I will say, “Me 
too.” Tell me what he has a right to wear, and I 
will say, “ Me too.” Tell me what he has a right 
to enjoy, and I will repeat, “ Me too.” 

And I wish from the depths of this “Me too” 
heart of mine, that in the near future every woman 
in all this world would, to the utter discomfiture 
of men, join in the glorious chorus, and march tri- 
umphant down the centuries that yet lie before us, 
shouting with might and invincible determination, 
‘^Metoo:^ 

Women, let us stand together and fight this bat- 
tle for our rights. If we do, believe me, it will not 
long be the battle cry, “ Me too,” but will soon be 
the song of victory, “Me too.” 


CHAPTER XIL 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 

, Our movements, even our important ones, are 
not always planned long beforehand. They can- 
not be, as we do not know the future. How often 
we, all of us, have wished that we might possess a 
faculty that would enable us to look into that won- 
derful future, which, before we reach it, seems to 
contain so much that is unprecedentedly attractive, 
but which, after we have been permitted to explore 
it, proves to be simply a repetition of what we have 
experienced a thousand times before in the past. 

Indeed, the less we know of the treasures it holds 
in store for us, the happier this treasured store will 
make us. And the less we know of the burdens of 
sorrow and care that it will impose upon us, the 
easier these self-same burdens can be borne by us. 

A previous certain knowledge of approaching 
delights fills us with anticipation of the pleasure 
that will arise from their enjoyment. Now, antici- 
pation is a treacherous and a false-dealing thing, 
perhaps not so from willful malice, but from inno- 


i8o 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


cent ignorance and from childish exuberance of 
spirit. It enriches us for the time being with ad- 
vance drafts on the pleasure that is in store, but, 
when the time comes for the full realization of that 
pleasure, we find the store sadly depleted through 
the inroads made upon it by our hasty anticipation. 

A previous certain knowledge of impending 
troubles fills us with anxious fears and forebodings 
of the pain that will be inflicted on us by their ar- 
rival. Now, these forebodings are fully as treach- 
erous and deceitful as the anticipations of pleasure, 
of which we have spoken. And again I grant that 
they may be so not from malice or a desire to tor- 
ture, but simply from ignorance and a foolish solic- 
itude. They are veritable Job’s comforters, and 
mercilessly magnify our sorrows. 

So, whatever the motives of these feelings, we 
ourselves are in both cases the victims of their 
well-meant considerateness, and the eflfect ever is 
to dull us for the real pleasure’s enjoyment and to 
weaken us for the bearing of the sorrow. And 
when it is said that there is more enjoyment in an- 
ticipation than there is in realization, the sentiment 
intended should be stated in this wise, that realiza- 
tions anticipated do not cause us so much pleasure 
as do realizations not anticipated. 

Corine and Helen had opportunity to reflect on 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. l8l 

these things amply as the great steamer plowed its 
unwearied way through the placid waters of the 
Atlantic that summer, just one month after their 
graduation, with them both on board. They did 
so, too, no doubt, if not in the words which we 
have used, at least in the same train of meditation. 

They had had no brilliant plans made for the sum- 
mer following their last term at school. The only 
thing that was definitely settled was that they were 
to spend three weeks out on the old farm together. 
The prospect of these weeks was not in any man- 
ner exciting, yet they had both anticipated their 
visit to the farm with much pleasure. They were 
not girls that fed on excitement, although they 
would have relished a summer at Newport or at 
Saratoga or at Paris equally with the rest of us. 
Indeed, if the whole truth must be told, they rather 
envied Posey Berner, who had sailed away accord- 
ing to previous plans a week after commencement. 

“It’s a pity you and I couldn’t go in Posey’s 
stead,” Corine had said to Helen several days after 
the memorable commencement day. They had 
been together every day since. To-day they had 
gone to the post-office for Mr. Doner, and they 
were just turning the corner to go down to the mill 
office, each with a promiscuous load of business 
letters, papers, circulars, and samples. 


i 82 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


‘‘I just know she will not appreciate the tour as 
you or I would, and if I do say so myself,” Corine 
continued, as Helen did not venture any response 
to her first remark. 

“Well, Corine, I must confess that I do feel a 
little naughty about it myself. It seems as if they 
were all going to enjoy a pleasant summer except 
you and me. Posey is going to Paris and Rome, 
Fannie and Hilda are going to the seaside, Mary 
Charman is to visit her aunt at X. They say X. 
is a delightful place to spend the summer. Mary 
intends to take Ada Fansen with her. Those two 
girls are like sisters since Ada has boarded there 
three years. JEven Jane expects to dissipate by 
taking a trip out to her brother’s in Nebraska. 
And the boys, too. Tom told me yesterday that 
he and Jim Stevens and Willie Seeler and Hal 
Lee are arranging to camp out in the mountains 
with a fishing party five weeks, and you know Rob 
Hoodley is going on a trip all around the world. 
I declare, Corine, you and John Perkins and I are 
the only ones to stay here all summer, and you and 
I are the only ones who will care. John will not 
mind it — he’s so interested in his growing busi- 
ness. But what use is there in worrying about 
it? That will not help us a particle, and we know 
it. Besides, we ought to be glad that the others 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 183 

can go away to have a good time ; and we can hope 
that our turn will come later. I^et’s make the best 
of it. Here, I’ll run in and give papa the mail, 
and then we’ll take a row up the river.” 

‘‘All right,” said Corine; but she sighed as she 
said it. 

They soon got started, and, as the day had been 
quite warm, were agreeably refreshed by the light 
breeze that was blowing across the river. They 
were refreshed mentally as well as physically, and 
they soon forgot all about their feelings of dis- 
appointment at being the only stay-at-homes for 
the summer. They seemed very much interested 
in some topic of conversation, as they were talking 
in such low tones. Girls always do that. When 
boys grow really interested they talk louder. But 
with girls it is different. They lower the tone of 
their voices. For that reason I can not tell you 
much of the conversation that took place in the 
Oyster that warm afternoon in June. Only this 
one question and its answer : 

‘ ‘ Then you think you like him as well as ever, 
Corine?” 

“ Like him as well as ever, Nellie? Why child, 
since that grand oration of his at graduation I 
just positively love him.” 

From the perfectly contented smile that glad- 


184 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


dened Helen’s fair face, it was quite evident that 
she felt not a trace of jealousy, and that when two 
years before she had, out on the self-same river and 
in the self-same boat, written the name of John 
Perkins on one of Corine’s mother’s visiting cards, 
she had given expression to a girl’s passing fancy 
only. I say it was apparent that it had been but a 
passing fancy. That means as far as her heart’s 
knowledge at this time went. What the future 
might bring she did not know. But then and 
there she sent a fervent prayer to Him that trieth 
the hearts, that she and her cousin Corine might 
never cross each other in the path where we 
mortals can least bear to find ourselves crossed. 

As the girls returned toward the mill they noticed 
that Helen’s father was standing on the landing- 
steps, evidently waiting for them. He held an 
open letter in his hand. 

“Why, what can papa want?” said Helen. “He 
is so busy to-day, I know it must be important.” 

“Oh, I suppose he wants us to go down to the 
post-office with an answer to some letter that re- 
quired immediate attention,” said Corine. 

“Yes, but don’t you see? The letter he has in 
his hand is an open one,” persisted Helen, and she 
began to row faster. “ See, Corine, he is beckon- 
ing to us.” 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 185 

“ Why, of course he is,” said her cousin, looking 
at her watch. “ It’s only twenty minutes until the 
Fast Mail goes through, and he wants the letter to 
go by that. The open letter you see is the one he 
is answering. He was in so big a hurry when he 
ran out to see whether we were coming, that he for- 
got himself and caught it up along. You know you 
are always imagining romantic things.” 

Corine still had her practical nature. Besides, 
she did not like to drop the subject they had been 
discussing. To have it end in a hasty trip down to 
the dirty dingy post-office along the hot, dusty 
street — this delightful ride with its delightful topic 
of conversation — was more than she could well en- 
dure patiently. She wished her father and her 
uncle would engage a new errand-boy instead of 
keeping the place open for the little fellow who 
was sick, and having their daughters run errands 
whenever they got near enough to be pressed into 
the service. She had been on the point of propos- 
ing another trip up the river, and was in danger of 
relapsing into that condition of semi-discontent in 
which we found both girls before their refreshing 
exercise. 

As they rowed up to him now, they noticed that 
Mr. Doner was as excited as a child. His face was 
a perfect study. Corine began to think that she 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


1 86 

had been mistaken after all. She certainly had, as 
was shown by the very first words that her uncle 
spoke. 

“Girls,” he said, “I have received important 
news from over the water. The probabilities are, 
that we will all have a trip across to old England, 
and in the very near future at that. I have not 
time to tell you all at present. I want you to take 
this letter home to mamma, Helen. She will un- 
derstand what it means without any explanation on 
your part. When I get home after office hours I 
will tell you all about it. If we go, Corine, we 
shall expect to take you with us, for Helen would 
not enjoy the trip without you. You had better 
begin talking to your parents about it at once, but 
I do not anticipate that they will be difiicult to 
persuade.” 

The girls were too bewildered to say a word. 
Grasping the wonderful letter, they hurried away, 
and did not find their tongues until they had 
reached Helen’s home. Here, however, a great 
disappointment awaited them. Mrs. Doner had 
gone out to make some calls and would not return 
for at least half an hour, grandma said. 

For three-quarters of an hour they had to content 
themselves with telling the wonderful news to 
grandma and the others, that is, as much of the 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 187 

news as they themselves knew. When Mrs. Doner 
returned, they did not even wait for her to reach 
the house, but unceremoniously thrust the letter 
into her hand as she was coming up the walk. 
She hardly knew what to make of the wild, inco- 
herent reception with which they assailed her, but 
she obediently read the letter, which was only a 
short note saying that it would be followed by a 
more explicit one in the next mail. 

Mamma Doner smiled when she had read the 
letter, and kissed Helen and Corine. Then they 
began to bombard her with questions. 

“What is it, mamma? What does it mean? 
When are we going? And O dear, what will we 
wear?’^ At all which Mamma Doner smiled 
happily, but said never a word. Helen soon 
noticed that they were getting no answers to their 
questions, so she stopped to say : 

“Why, mamma, why don’t you say something? 
Why don’t you explain ? ” 

“If you would stop long enough for me to crowd 
in a few words, I might make a little explanation,” 
rejoined she. 

“We’ll solemnly promise to say not one word 
while you are telling us all about it, Aunt Emma,” 
said Corine. 

“ Well, children, the ‘all about it’ that I have 


i88 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


to tell is very little and is only this, that I know 
papa would rather tell you about it himself. So 
you’ll have to wait till he comes home saying 
which, Mrs. Doner disengaged herself skillfully 
from their grasp and ran upstairs to get herself 
ready for tea, much to their surprise and dis- 
appointment. 

They strolled about the lawn and impatiently 
awaited the arrival of Mr. Doner, all the while 
talking excitedly and making plans which showed 
that they knew absolutely nothing about a sea 
voyage. 

Mr. Doner finally came, and after the evening 
meal had been despatched the girls led him into 
the library and said, “Now we can’t wait a 
moment longer, so you’ll just have to tell us.” 

Thus dictated to, Mr. Doner submitted laugh- 
ing, and gave them the following explanation: 

“You have both often heard me speak of my 
relatives in England. I have never explained to 
you, though, how it is that we, who are originally 
of German descent, happen to have any relatives 
in Great Britain. It came about in this way. 

“ My uncle, Brenner by name, was in the employ 
of a leading business house in Hamburg. This 
house had much exchange with brokers in London. 
It was finally deemed advisable to establish an 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 189 

agency in London, and to manage this this uncle 
of mine, as one of the most experienced and most 
highly trusted employes of the firm, was selected. 
He did not like to leave his German fatherland, 
but, as the position was in the nature of a de- 
cided promotion, and as he had quite a knowledge 
of the English language, having often previously 
been in Loudon, sometimes for weeks at one trip, 
transacting the business of the firm, he was the 
more readily reconciled to going, and accepted the 
position. 

“He took charge of the agency and managed it 
with signal ability and success. Thus it came 
about that he was continued in the capacity of his 
firm^s London agent year after year. In the course 
of time he became perfectly reconciled to his new 
home and surroundings, and there was no notice- 
able trace of his German left except a slight im- 
perfection in his English accent. 

“His son, a boy of ten years when the family 
removed to Her Majesty’s kingdom, grew up an 
out-and-out Englishman. He embarked in busi- 
ness for himself and is now a thriving merchant. 
My uncle died, as you remember, eight years ago. 
Aunt Gretchen and the daughters returned to Ger- 
many on his death, but George continued his busi- 
ness in England ; and this Cousin George is the 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


190 

kinsman about whom I have sometimes spoken to 
you. He is in business in a partnership company 
at Liverpool, and is getting along splendidly. 
Somehow or other, though he and I have seen 
each other but twice in our lives, once when I was 
quite a boy yet and went over with Grandpa 
Doner, and once shortly after Helen was born, 
when he had to run over to New York on business 
and came to spend two weeks with us, still we 
seem to have become close friends at the very out- 
set of our acquaintance, and have always kept up 
a regular, if not a lively correspondence. 

“About two years ago he wrote me about a busi- 
ness venture in which he expected to invest some 
capital, inviting me to join in the enterprise if I 
wished. At that time I happened to have some 
idle money, and, knowing him to be a solid busi- 
ness man and no wild speculator, I sent him quite 
a sum, with instructions to invest it for me as he 
himself thought best. He did this, and the venture 
has proved successful. He writes me, now, that 
very likely, indeed, he says ‘practically certainly,’ 
my presence will be required at a meeting of the 
stockholders in August. 

“ ‘ I will write you particulars more definitely by 
next American mail,’ he writes. ‘ Shall see True- 
man and Carberry when they return from India in 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 191 

a day or two, and will inform you at once. You 
may as well prepare to come, however, as nothing 
short of a very unexpected turn in affairs will 
render your coming unnecessary. And now re- 
member what I have written you a score of times 
before, that if you care to insure yourself a hearty 
English welcome you must bring a good part of 
the family with you. I want specially to see that 
little girl who came to make you so proud and 
happy that I hardly knew you last time I visited 
you, it must be now twenty years gone by, is it 
not ? ’ 

“Now you girls have the whole story in a nut- 
shell, and you must run away while I attend to 
some writing. For, if we are to go, there are a 
thousand and one things that will demand my at- 
tention between now and our departure. So run 
along, and above all do not bother me with what 
you will have to wear. I am willing to pay all the 
bills Helen makes, and Uncle Joe will do the same 
by Corine if he decides to let her go. I expect 
John Perkins will be hauling whole dray-loads of 
dry-goods and millinery up here for the next two 
or three weeks, but you mustn’t bring the pattern- 
books and fashion-plates down to the mill office and 
ask us which is lovely, and which is elegant, and 
the like.” And Deacon Doner ended with his rare 


192 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


hearty laugh, that laugh that made the old women 
who had known him as a boy say, “Just like old 
Squire Doner, for all the world.” 

The girls had their minds too full to protest against 
being sent away; so, answering only the last part 
of his speech by saying, “As if we ever did that!” 
they both threw their arms about his neck and 
nearly smothered him with kisses, then ran obedi- 
ently away leaving him smiling over his work. 
He was never happier, this Deacon Doner, than 
when he had been able to do or to say something 
that made others happy. 

Four days later another letter arrived from 
George Brenner, and it was definitely decided that 
they would make the voyage. They had no fears 
for the welfare of grandma and the children, as the 
aunts and uncles would be glad to welcome them, 
and the children had a standing invitation to come 
to the farm whenever they pleased and to stay as 
long as they liked. 

The weeks that followed were busy weeks indeed. 
You can easily imagine what all there was to be 
arranged. 

What troubled the girls most at first was to get 
the consent of Corine’s parents. At the first men- 
tion of the plan they had been inclined to say 
“No,” but there were too many against them and 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 


193 


they were soon forced to yield. What could they 
do against the united forces of the deacon, his wife, 
Helen, and their own Corine? So they consented 
sooner than they themselves had thought that they 
would. 

‘‘It will perhaps be Corine’s only chance,” said 
Mrs. Hereford, “for I do not expect ever to per- 
suade myself to venture out on the ocean;” and, to 
the great delight of all concerned, it was decided 
that Corine should accompany the Doners. 

Her happiness hardly knew bounds, but it was 
fully equaled by Helen’s; for, unselfish creature 
that she was, she could not have enjoyed the trip 
with thoughts of Corine at home. 

Mr. Doner had been about right in his estimate 
of the loads of millinery and dry-goods. It began 
to seem as if every corner of the old house had be- 
come a wardrobe. 

“ It’s awful with you women,” said Erwin. He 
was growing to be quite a man by this time, at 
least in his ways and ideas. “ I believe Helen has 
a different dress for every city and village in the 
United Kingdom.” 

“ Why, Erwin, how absurd,” said she. “ Don’t 
you know that we women folks need different 
dresses? You know I have only nine new ones. 
Besides, who is the first one to criticise when a girl 

13 


194 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


is not dressed just so ?” But he was out of earshot 
when she finished, knowing full well that it would 
be useless to argue the question. 

Thus the days went by, the girls becoming 
busier every moment, and the boys tormenting 
them more and more every day. One evening 
when Krwin and Ralph had been extraordinarily full 
of tease, so that Helen and Corine finally promised 
them each a whole lot of foreign postage stamps, 
to be sent after they should reach England, if they 
would only quit teasing and leave, and the boys 
had accepted the offer and withdrawn, they both 
suddenly reappeared. The girls were absorbed, 
bending over the last '''' Delineator^ They looked 
up and were about to call “ Shame ” on the ruthless 
promise-breakers, when Ralph said: 

“ Look here, Helen. Here is something we boys 
got for you.’’ They were carrying an express 
package between them, making believe that it was 
too heavy for one alone. 

The girls were inclined to believe that the boys 
were only joking, but the boys came ahead and laid 
the parcel on the table. What girl was ever known 
to resist the temptation to open a mysterious pack- 
age? When the lid was off, and the paper packing 
removed, a cry of delight and astonishment escaped 
both the girls. There before them lay what had 


AN UNEXPECTED VOYAGE. 


195 


caused Helen the most anxiety and trouble, a beau- 
tiful traveling ulster. She had not been able to 
suit herself in one at Riverton, or at Z., where they 
had gone to shop, and her mother had finally de- 
cided to risk taking time enough in New York to 
buy one before the boat sailed. These good-for- 
nothing teases had heard all about it, and, calling 
in the aid of the leading dry-goods man of the 
town, had secretly carried out a plan with this re- 
sult. Helen was completely overcome. 

“I’ll never say again that boys are good for 
nothing, and that they know nothing about 
women’s dresses,” she almost sobbed; and the boys 
felt so embarrassed at their perfect success, that they 
hastily said “Good night,” and were gone be- 
fore the girls could call in Mrs. Doner to admire 
the surprise. 

With like pleasures and kindnesses the busy 
days were filled. Friends ‘dropped in” to make 
farewell calls, dress-makers and seamstresses came 
and went, express carriers bustled in and out, and 
never in their lives had the Doners lived through 
such an excitement and flurry. 

“It’s positively exhilarating,” declared the 
Deacon, “I wish it could last always.” 

“Why, papa,” said Helen, “we could never 
stand it.” 


196 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


She was right. For when, three days before the 
time set for the departure, the last stitch had been 
taken, the last strap drawn, the last everything, in 
short, attended to, they all found themselves ex- 
tremely grateful for the few days of rest allotted to 
them, and began to discover how tired they really 
were. 

Then these three days passed, and there came the 
last partings and farewells, the last admonitions 
and instructions, the last tears and kisses, and the 
travelers were flying along toward New York on 
the Fast Mail. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


NEW FRIENDS. 

Somewhat to Corine’s disappointment the voy- 
age was made without their encountering any 
danger. She had hoped that at least a storm or 
two would attack the ship, and would have wel- 
comed a fleet of icebergs. But nothing in the 
nature of storm or berg approached them. 

The voyage was not, however, lacking in in- 
terest for either of the girls. They enjoyed every 
moment of the week, from the minute the great ship 
left her moorings at New York to the time when 
she sighted Liverpool. The wonderful ship itself, 
the people on board, the sailors, the captain, the 
vast blue sea, they all came in promiscuously for 
their share of the attention of these two young 
ladies. So interested were they in all they saw 
that Mr. and Mrs. Doner found their greatest 
pleasure in observing the girls’ happiness. 

It cannot be said, though, that the party were 
sorry when they found that the ship was nearing 
the land. Equipped with glasses loaned by the 


198 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


captain, the observant eyes of the girls had already 
discovered objects of interest on the shore ; and, 
what with the excitement always attendant on an 
ocean liner’s arrival in port, the parting from the 
ship was accomplished without tears or any con- 
siderable sadness. 

On landing, they were immediately taken in 
charge by a gentleman who seemed to be of about 
Mr. Doner’s age, and who, moreover, seemed to be 
entirely satisfied with Mr. Doner’s company, for 
he paid no attention whatever to any of the others, 
and did pay most decided attention to him. The 
girls and Mrs. Doner began to think that the good 
deacon had fallen into the grasp of some adven- 
turous confidence man. But after a while the two 
gentlemen turned around, and Mr. Doner said: 

“Why, George, we are forgetting all about the 
wonien-folks.” 

‘‘True enough,” said the cheery voice of his 
companion; and then, as he grasped Mrs. Doner’s 
hand, he went on, “Cousin Emma, welcome to old 
England. As for these young ladies, Frank, I 
think you shall have to introduce me to their 
acquaintance, for I feel rather embarrassed to hail 
them as I had expected to do. You know, I had 
an image of two little school-girls in my mind, but 
I declare, here are two fine young women.” 


NEW FRIENDS. 


199 


“Now, Cousin George,” said Helen, taking his 
hand and giving him a warm kiss, “you mustn’t 
pretend that we are strangers, for I feel that we 
have always known each other, since you and papa 
are such chums.” 

Corine, of course, did not feel herself free to 
make so informal and, as she thought it, so un- 
dignified an entrance into the acquaintance of a 
gentleman whom she had never met before. Her 
greeting was none the less friendly, however, and 
with lively chat and conversation they entered the 
coach that stood in waiting, and were driven at 
once to Mr. George Brenner’s handsome residence. 

The fine house was beautifully situated in a large 
grove of tall old trees, and stood some distance 
from the thoroughfare. The drive wound in a 
wide sweep through the trees up to the broad 
terrace that crossed the whole front of the house. 
The location was an exceedingly attractive one, 
being not far from the boulevard that led out to 
Prince’s Park. 

“Oh, what an elegant place !” cried Corine. “I 
believe you will be sorry you invited us. Cousin 
George; we will not want ever to leave again.” 

“All the more agreeable to me,” said her cousin, 
gallantly. “Nothing could please me more than 
to keep you all here a long time as members of the 


200 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


family. The old house seems rather dreary since 
Ellen is married and the boys are both gone to 
India.” 

‘‘ I am afraid we American girls would not suit, 
though,” suggested Helen. 

“ Oh, don’t say that,” responded her cousin. “ I 
am already prepared to endorse what my neighbor 
Chamberlain is always arguing, that the American 
girls are sweeter and brighter than our own.” 

“What makes him think that?” asked Helen. 

“Oh, he is in a position to judge capably. He 
has been in the States dozens of times, and has fre- 
quently spent a half year there at a trip.” 

“Chamberlain,” said Corine, meditatively; “that 
name seems familiar to me, somehow or other.” 

“Yes,” said Mr. Doner, “you are undoubtedly 
thinking of Mr. Chamberlain whom you met in the 
office at the mill once — let me see, it must be over 
two years ago. I wonder whether this could be the 
same person.” 

“Is he tall and distinguished-looking ?” asked 
Corine. 

“Yes, he is,” said Cousin George. “He is often 
mistaken for a nobleman, and, indeed, to say 
truth, he is a noble man, as noble as men are 
made.” 

“What is his given name?” asked Mr. Doner. 


NEW FRIENDS. 


201 


“ Rodney," said George. 

“Well, I do believe it is the same,” said the 
deacon. “ But it is queer that we never mentioned 
to each other our mutual acquaintance with you, 
George. I have met him often and have had 
numerous business transactions with him, but 
neither of us has ever mentioned you.” 

“That is not so surprising as it seems, Frank. 
You undoubtedly did business with him as a lyon- 
don broker, did you not?” 

“Yes, that’s true. The address was London, 
and I suppose he never happened to mention that 
he resided at Liverpool.” 

“Well, here we are,” said George, as the coach 
drew up at the block. “Now, let us disembark, 
and let me welcome you to the house. We can 
continue the subject of Mr. Chamberlain at some 
other time. He will be certain to call some even- 
ing soon, and you will have an opportunity of 
judging for yourselves by sight whether he is your 
acquaintance or not;” and Mr. Brenner sprang to 
the ground with the agility of a boy, and began 
assisting them to alight. 

Mrs. Cousin George met them at the door, and 
repeated the cordial welcome of her husband, and 
in a short time they had all removed the signs of 
travel and fatigue, and were resting comfortably, 


202 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“just as though we were at home,” Helen re- 
marked. 

That very evening, as they were enjoying the air 
on the terrace after tea, a tall and stately figure 
appeared, walking toward them up the path. 

“That is our Mr. Chamberlain,” said Helen. 
“ Does he know that you were expecting friends 
from America, Cousin George?” 

“No, I think not. He has been absent from his 
home here for about six weeks, and returned only 
yesterday. I saw him at the Exchange this morn- 
ing, but had only a few minutes’ talk with him, 
and that was on business. So I did not have occa- 
sion to mention your coming.” 

“Then please do not tell him who we are; and 
papa, you move away. I want to see whether he 
will recognize me. You know what a ‘ fuss ’ he 
made over me when he visited us that time, and 
how he urged me to drop in at his office if we ever 
came to England. I remember yet that I said, 
‘Why, Mr. Chamberlain, in a month’s time you 
will have forgotten that there ever was a person 
called Helen Doner. You are so occupied with 
your business affairs, and you see so many new 
faces every day;’ and he said, ‘Miss Helen, if you 
walk into my office on Lombard street at the busi- 
est hour of the day ten years from now I shall rec- 


NEW FRIENDS. 


203 


ognize you.’ It was very gallant of him, and I felt 
awfully flattered, but I am rather skeptical as to his 
ability to fulfill his promise.” 

Mr. Doner quietly withdrew and busied himself 
examining some shrubs that were flowering near 
the end of the terrace. The caller had by this time 
approached, and, lifting his hat gracefully and dig- 
nifiedly to them all, he paused and looked inquir- 
ingly at George Brenner, evidently expecting to be 
presented. He wondered that his usually so ready 
host made no move in that direction. Then he 
came a step closer and scanned the group once 
more, thinking perhaps he had mistaken friends 
for strangers. Helen began to triumph and was 
preparing to enjoy his discomfiture at failing to 
recognize her, when he caught sight of her ani- 
mated face. 

“Well, well,” he cried, “well, well. Miss 
Helen, how do I happen on the extreme pleasure 
of meeting you here, right in the midst of our dear 
old Liverpool, and under the roof of my good friend 
Brenner? And this is Miss Corine, your cousin, is 
it not? And, madame, I beg your pardon, the 
shade of these trees was too much for my old eyes 
this evening. They are getting rather weak, al- 
though Harry tells me I can see as well as ever. Is 
your husband here, Mrs. Doner? ” and the old gen- 


204 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

tleman took a chair that stood vacant at Helen’s 
right. 

There was no use for Mr. Doner’s keeping him- 
self hidden any longer, so he came forward, and 
the two exchanged cordial greetings, and then 
there was a general laugh at Helen’s expense. 

“ Now, George,” said Mr. Chamberlain, “ I want 
you to explain these things at once. Do you think 
this is fair treatment of a poor old neighbor who 
never in his life did you an evil turn?” and the 
old gentleman’s eyes twinkled brightly. He drew 
his chair a little nearer to Helen’s, and looked at 
her with an expression of extreme delight. 

“Well, sir,” laughed George, “seeing that you 
have so shamefully neglected your neighbors for 
six or eight weeks, do you think that they could 
well keep you informed ? Besides, how was I to 
know that you had any acquaintance with my 
kinsfolk across the Atlantic?” 

“Kinsfolk? Do you mean to tell me that my 
old friend Doner is a kinsman of yours?” 

“Not only a kinsman, but the very best friend; 
although it is true that we have met each other 
only twice in our lives before this day.” 

“Well, well,” ejaculated his neighbor. “What 
strange things do happen right under our very 
noses. Well, well!” 


NEW FRIENDS. 


205 


The evening was spent in happy converse, and 
it was late when Mr. Chamberlain left and the 
company retired for the night. He had told them 
that he expected them to spend as much time with 
him as they spent with his neighbor George. 

“ If Harry were only here,” he said at leaving; 
“I have told him so many things about the won- 
derful women of America, and here he is missing 
the chance of seeing the very finest that America 
can boast. The boy is a regular American him- 
self. He has never gone across, because I have 
always feared if I once let him go he would never 
return. ICs wonderful with the fellow. He is a 
great student of government, and has become an 
out-and-out republican. He thinks more of your 
presidents than of all our kings and queens com- 
bined. Well, well, it’s too bad, too bad. Here he 
is off on that miserable cruise on the Mediter- 
ranean, and no way of knowing where to reach 
him. I shall send out a few messages to different 
ports this very night, however, and I think that in 
a week or two I can have him here. The boy must 
meet you.” 

“Do you really mean to spoil his summer’s 
cruise just for the sake of having him meet a few 
wild Americans?” questioned Helen, in genuine 
astonishment. 


2o6 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Why certainly,’’ answered he. “The boy 
would never forgive me if I failed to do it.” And 
the good old man wished 'them a good night, and 
strode off with the firm determination of doing all 
that he had said. 

The days that followed were spent as yon can all 
imagine they were. There were dinners and teas, 
and walks and drives, and excursions and sight- 
seeings. George Brenner was a thorough host, and 
spared no pains to make every moment of the visit 
pleasant for his guests. The efforts of Mr. Cham- 
berlain were not less constant. He accompanied 
them wherever they went, and they had no desire 
to go without him. His only request was that 
they defer some of their excursions until Harry 
came back. To this they all willingly assented, 
arranging to postpone their out-of-town excursions 
until after his return. 

So they drove in Prince’s park, and on out to 
Sefton park, and to Wavertree park with its fine 
botanic gardens and its wonderful palm-house, the 
like of which they had never seen. They became 
acquainted with the Exchange, and the old Town 
hall, and St. George’s hall, and with every other 
building of interest. They visited the docks, and 
drove out into the country districts. Often they 
gathered on the lawn at Mr. Chamberlain’s, where 


NEW FRIENDS. 


207 


was a fine tennis court, and passed the hours in 
the healthful exercise of that exhilarating outdoor 
game. 

At all these times Mr. Chamberlain was Helen’s 
companion. He actually asserted that he had a 
greater right to her than her own father had. 
“ For,” said he, “ he has your mother to bear him 
company, and both my two girls and their dear 
mother are dead and gone.” 

There was only one thing to mar the perfect 
happiness of this fine old man. That was that he 
had not had any response from Harry. It was al- 
most two weeks now since he had sent out those 
first messages, and he had sent others since then; 
but no answer from Harry reached him. At last 
one morning, just as the company were leaving the 
breakfast room at Brenners’, Mr. Chamberlain came 
in, excitedly waving a bit of paper. 

“Well, well,” said he, without waiting to say 
“good morning;” “listen to this message which 
I have just received from London : 

“ ‘Dear Father: Could not reach London as soon 
as I stated in letter from Venice, owing to loss of 
important luggage. Will reach Liverpool to- 
morrow by London and North Western. Meet me 
earliest train.’ ” 

“When is that?” asked Helen. 


208 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“In three hours,” said he, consulting his time- 
piece. “I wish it were only three minutes.” 

The three hours passed as quickly as hours that 
have sixty minutes to make up usually do, although 
this impatient father insisted that they were the 
longest hours he had lived for a long while. He 
strode up and down the platform at the station fully 
three-quarters of an hour before the train was due, 
and consulted his time-keeper so often, that a 
group of young men near-by thought he must be 
expecting a kingdom to arrive for him on the 
coming train. 

The girls were at home arranging their hair and 
their dresses, and speculating about the new 
arrival. 

“I wonder what he is like,” said Helen. “I 
just know I will not like him, and I’m afraid I 
will show it, and I do dislike to offend dear old 
Mr. Chamberlain.” 

“Well, I do pity you,” replied Corine. “Mr. 
Chamberlain has been making so much of you that 
you will simply have to pretend you like the boy, 
whether he strikes your fancy or not. I wonder 
whether he is as boyish as his father’s talk would 
lead a person to believe.” 

“ I am sure I don’t know, Corine. I have given 
the youth very little thought; only enough to save 


NEW FRIENDS. 


209 


myself from appearing rude whenever his father 
has introduced him as the subject of our conversa- 
tion. But look here! Why are we up here primp- 
ing away for dear life, just as though we expected 
to appear at court and to be presented to her 
majesty? I^et’s call this good enough, eh?’* 

“No sir, Nellie. We might as well go on now. 
Mr. Harry may bring some young duke with him 
that’s worth dressing for. What do you intend to 
wear? And we had better be quick about it, too, 
for it’s train time now, and I know the old gentle- 
man will bring his darling little boy up here the 
first thing.” 

So they arrayed themselves in their very prettiest 
dresses, and, when they appeared below. Cousin 
George slily said, “I wonder which one it will 
be.” 

‘‘ Why, Cousin George, do you really think that 
boy will make any difference to us?” said Helen. 

“Or we to him!” added Corine. “I^ikelyas 
not he’ll look at us about a second, and then want 
to go home and have a romp with his dog, or feed 
his pet rabbits. ” 

“ I’ll tell him that,” said Cousin George, smiling 
mysteriously. 

“ Yes, do,” said Corine. He said nothing more, 
and they swept out on the terrace. 

14 


210 


HBR PlrACK ASSIGNED. 


When the train drew into the station, Mr. Cham- 
berlain eagerly scanned the occupants of each coach 
as the compartments were opened. He soon descried 
his son. The meeting was an affectionate one. 

“Well, well,” said the father, “how you have 
kept me in a worry for two weeks. You’re look- 
ing well, Harry, my boy. You’re looking fine, 
sir.” 

“ Worried because you didn’t receive my letter 
ill reply to your message at Venice?” 

“Yes, sir. How do you know that I did not 
receive any letter?” 

“Why, father, after telegraphiug to you imme- 
diately after my arrival in Loudon last night, I went 
to the office. Bleeker was still there, and he had a 
message for me from Jack Reefer. I had given 
him my letter to you at Venice, as he was going 
ashore that evening, and here he telegraphed me 
from Rome that he forgot to post my letter and 
did not discover it in his pocket till yesterday 
noon. ’ ’ 

“Well, well! That’s like that harum-scarum 
Jack. But there, get into the coach, boy.” 

“Isn’t it sort of queer to call a fellow off a 
Mediterranean cruise to meet two American school- 
girls, father?” 

“Yes, it is, Harry, my boy; yes, it is. And if 


NEW FRIENDS. 


2II 


you want to go back and finish the cruise, you have 
my consent. All I ask is that you stay with us 
two or three days. We are all going down to 
London, and from there on to Paris, and you can 
go with us, and then go and join the other boys 
again if you like, and finish the cruise with them.” 

“That will suit me exactly, father. I’ll just for- 
ward Jack a message to-day, informing him to that 
effect. ’ ’ 

“Well, well, do as you like, boy. Do you want 
to go home first, or shall we go directly to Bren- 
ners’ ? ’ ’ 

“ Suit yourself, father.” 

“Tom,” said Mr. Chamberlain, “take us to 
George Brenner’s, and be quick about it.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the coachman, and they were 
on the way at once. 

The girls were still on the terrace. They were 
surprised to see the coach approaching with two 
tall gentlemen seated within. 

“Well,” said Helen slowly, “which is Mr. 
Chamberlain, I wonder.” 

“They both are, Nellie,” said Corine, laughing. 
“But isn’t it fortunate that we fixed up as we 
did?” 

Helen thought so, as she blushingly acknowl- 
edged the graceful bow which Harry was bestow- 


212 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


ing Upon her when his proud father was presenting 
him. A handsomer young man she had never 
seen. She understood at a glance why his father 
was proud of him. 

As for Harry, he was wishing that they had 
driven to his home first, so that he might have ap- 
peared in more presentable dress. 

Corine’s impression is most easily described in 
her own words. As Harry and his father stepped 
inside to meet the others, she whispered in an aside 
to Helen : ‘ ‘ Isn’ t he just divine ? ’ ’ 

“Mustn’t say that, Corine.” 

“Well, ‘grand’ then, if that’s better.” 

“ Yes, that is better. And now I perfectly agree 
with you. He is grand.” 

The “grand” “boy” soon reappeared, and 
they launched out into a sprightly conversation 
with him. From that moment on, the life and 
pleasure of the visit seemed to be doubled. 

Mr. Chamberlain soon appeared and said, 
“ Harry, I shall send Tom back with the horses, 
and we will walk home when we are ready. Do 
you wish to have him drive down and attend to 
that message for you?” 

“O no, father. We will have to go down this 
evening at any rate, and I can attend to it then 
myself. There is no special haste required.” 


NEW FRIENDS. 


213 


They went down to the city that evening, and as 
they started home Mr. Chamberlain said: “Well, 
well, Harry. We’re forgetting that message.” 

“Don’t worry about that, father,” quoth Harry. 

‘ ‘ I shall attend to that to-morrow. ’ ’ 

The next evening, as they were slowly driving 
home after a long trip with their friends out to the 
Chamberlains’ country villa, the old man once more 
broached the subject. He had no desire that Harry 
should leave again, but he was a strict business 
man, and, when there was any business that re- 
quired attention, he could not rest until it had 
been disposed of. 

“Harry,” he began, “about that message” — 

“Now, father,” interrupted Harry. “Let us 
not say anything more about that for the present. 
I’ll promise to send it in good season.” And so 
the subject was dropped. 

Some of the former drives had to be taken 
over again, with Harry as an addition to the party. 
It was noticeable that the elder Chamberlain de- 
voted himself almost exclusively to Corine, while 
his son took his father’s accustomed place at 
Helen’s side. 

The trip to London, and from there on to Paris, 
was one continual pleasure. Never had a more 
congenial party “done” the sights in these two 


214 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


cities. Day followed day without their taking 
any note of time, until one evening Mr. Chamber- 
lain said with a sigh, “Two days more, and we 
leave Paris for home. Harry, my boy, when do 
you start to join the boys again ? And where do 
you want your luggage forwarded?” 

“Why, father, hadn’t I told you that I had de- 
cided not to join them again?” 

“Well, well,” answered his father; “but what 
will Jack think?” 

“Oh, Jack will think nothing at all about it. 
He is not expecting me, as far as I know.” 

“ Well, well,” ejaculated the old man. “Didn’t 
he receive your message?” 

“No, father. And that for the simple reason 
that I did not send him any.” 

“You scamp,” frowned his delighted father; 
“And here I’ve been grieving about parting 
again. What has happened to change your plans?” 

“Well, you see, I don’t exactly care to chase 
around after the fellows; and besides, Mark 
Huntley wants me to make that Irish tour with 
him in October, so I think that will make enough 
traveling for me this year, don’t you?” 

“Yes, sir; yes I do,” assented his father with 
much force; and Harry strolled down the hotel 
steps to join the girls, who were just returning 


NEW FRIENDS. 215 

from a shopping trip with Mrs. Brenner and Mrs. 
Doner. 

Harry returned with them when the time for 
departure from Paris came, and there were two 
weeks more of unalloyed pleasure at Liverpool. 
Then the time allotted to the visit was up. With 
many regrets expressed on all sides because of the 
termination of what had been the most delightful 
summer any of them had ever spent, the Doner 
party took leave of their kind hosts; and they were 
soon again out on the deep. Harry and his father 
had promised to “run over” and spend the Christ- 
mas holidays with them, and the Brenners expected 
to make the voyage once more in the following 
spring. These prospects made the parting a little 
less sad. But still the first few days out were very 
quiet ones for the young folks. Then the weather 
grew stormy, and Corine was taken down with 
a terrible spell of sea-sickness. She with her 
sufferings, and Helen with nursing her, had other 
things to occupy their minds than the thoughts of 
parting from their dear English friends. And 
when, at last, Sandy Hook was sighted, the girls 
were their old selves once more, with the exception 
that they had a hardier and a healthier color even 
than usual. And so they returned home, and took 
up their accustomed life anew. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


HOME AGAIN. 

While the travelers had been enjoying them- 
selves in England, Corine’ s parents had been pre- 
paring a surprise for her. One of the first things 
she learned on her return was that her father and 
mother had decided to send her to college to study 
law for two years. Her delight on receiving this 
welcome intelligence knew no limits. She skipped 
and danced around like a child with its first doll. 

It had long been her wish to educate herself 
more highly than could be done through the Riv- 
erton High School course, and ‘Maw” was her 
hobby. But her father had always objected to any 
plans looking toward the realization of these 
dreams, and during her last year at High School 
she had said nothing more to him on the subject. 
While she was gone her mother had finally per- 
suaded him to consent, and so it had been decided 
that she should enter the junior year at Col- 

lege after Christmas. This she could readily do, as 
the Riverton High School course was sufficiently 


HOME AGAIN. 217 

advanced, and she had done considerable outside 
study. 

She now determined to persuade her uncle to let 
Helen accompany her and take the same course at 
college. But she could not move him an inch. 

‘‘Helen has a good sensible education now,” he 
said, “as good an education as she will ever need 
to fill the place which the Lord assigns to her in 
this life. She has more of an education than her 
mother, and if she makes some good man half as 
good a wife as her mother has been one to me, she 
will be doing more good than all the special educa- 
tion in the world can fit her to do. You know how 
I stand on that question, Corine, and you know 
that Helen heartily agrees with me. As for study- 
ing law, it is as evident to me as anything can be 
that the Lord did not intend for women to be doc- 
tors and dentists and lawyers and ministers. The 
Word of God is clearly outspoken on those points. 
God’s mission for women is immeasurably higher 
than these callings — the glorious mission of wife- 
hood and motherhood. Now, I know what you 
want to tell me, that knowing and practicing these 
other things does not make a woman a poorer wife 
or mother. But what I say is this, that by crowd- 
ing all these things into a woman’s mind you crowd 
them into her heart. For in woman heart is al- 


2i8 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


ways the ruling feature, and we may thank God 
that it is. A woman’s heart is in everything she 
undertakes. If, now, you crowd these things into 
a woman’s heart, you must necessarily crowd out 
her domestic instincts, and when you do that you 
are working ruin that will reach further than most 
people stop to consider. Besides, let me tell you 
something that Professor Scranton said at the last 
meeting of the Board of Education. He said that 
woman’s mind is constituted entirely different from 
man’s mind, and needs an entirely different develop- 
ment. He said this in support of retaining the new 
plans of study which he introduced into our course 
here a few years ago, and which he introduced to 
meet the demands made by this very difference. 
And I am sure he is right on this question. You 
are going to a college where the original object was 
to educate young men only. When it was decided 
to admit young women, the course was hardly 
changed at all. Essentially it remained the same 
as it had formerly been. You will find a similar 
fault in most of our so-called female colleges. Their 
courses are planned closely after the courses of the 
male colleges. Indeed, it is their chief boast that 
they equip young women just the same as young 
men are equipped. The worst calamity that I could 
imagine for Helen would be that she should lose 


HOME AGAIN. 


219 


her womanliness, even if by sacrificing it she could 
gain a renown before all the world, and seem to do 
thousands an incalculable benefit. I have always 
held that the only way to please God is to be true 
in the sphere which He has assigned to us. Pleas- 
ing Him is the only worthy object of any life.” 

The deacon had spoken with warmth. He was 
fully conscious of the fact that he was condemning 
the very step that Corine was so proudly taking ; 
but he had more of an object in view than simply 
that of informing her why he could not accede to 
her wish and allow Helen to accompany her to 
college. The far-seeing man had often feared that 
Corine, whom he loved almost as dearly as one of 
his own children, would make her later life, or at 
least a goodly portion of it, miserable for herself 
and others. He thought it not unkind to warn her 
against taking this step. 

He had spoken to her mother, but without any 
success at all. She had summarily called him an 
old fogy, and had intimated, not gently, that if 
they wished to educate their daughter it concerned 
nobody but themselves. 

The deacon’s words were not without effect on 
Corine. When he finished she was crying, and she 
was quite angry. She made no response, but cried 
until she could control her tears, and then, simply 


220 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


saying, “Good night, uncle,’’ she slipped out of 
the room. 

Her uncle knew that on more deliberate consid- 
eration of his words she would understand that he 
had spoken from love, and not to offend her. He 
simply called after her, “Good-bye, Corine ; think 
over what I have said, and don’t be offended at 
me.” 

It is, perhaps, needless to say that the prepara- 
tions for Corine’s two years at college went on just 
the same. 

Mr. Hereford agreed perfectly with his brother- 
in-law, although he held his views from somewhat 
different motives. But in this instance the decis- 
ion was according to Mrs. Hereford’s will. She 
was gratified with the advanced views that had 
already taken so firm a hold on her daughter’s 
mind, and she conceived it to be her duty to 
encourage them, no matter what became of the 
womanly traits of her character in the meantime. 

Harry Chamberlain and his father reached Riv- 
erton a week before Christmas. The sleighing 
was excellent that winter, and the skating like- 
wise, so there was no lack of amusement. Besides, 
the great city of Z. was only thirty miles dis- 
tant, and with its population already at one hun- 
dred and thirty-seven thousand it made a splendid 


HOME AGAIN. 


221 


objective point for pleasure-seekers, especially as 
excursion trains were run whenever any attraction 
of considerable merit was billed for that city. 

The Doners were not theatre-goers, but they rarely 
missed a good concert or a lecture. So their ways 
of entertaining their guests were by no means poor. 

Harry and his father both declared that life in 
the little village was charming. Mr. Chamberlain 
even went as far as to say that when he retired 
from active business life, he would remove to 
America and settle down in Riverton. 

“You are perfectly safe in saying that, father,” 
said Harry, “for the very plain reason that you will 
never retire. You are far and away past the age at 
which most men retire now, and if I am any judge 
you are still good for a number of years.” 

It did really seem so, for the old man was as hale 
and hearty as Harry, to all appearances, and he 
joined in their sports with as much vigor as the 
young folks themselves displayed. Helen and 
Corine were both expert skaters, and they coaxed 
the old gentleman into a race with them one fine 
afternoon. Harry also joined, and away they 
swept. Judge of their surprise, when, the course 
having not yet been half covered, Harry’s father 
was far enough in the lead to make it entirely cer- 
tain and plain that he would win. 


222 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


What a grand thing it would be if our young 
men of the present day would remember that God 
requires of them that they keep themselves in good 
physical health. What with gin and whisky on 
the one hand and pie and cake on the other, with 
ambitious overwork in the one case and indolent 
idleness in the other, our young forces are regularly 
weakened before they reach the age when they 
should stand in their prime. 

It had been decided that the Christmas decora- 
tions should be a combination of the German and 
the English. There was to be an old-fashioned 
German tree, but with it English holly in profu- 
sion. Helen had also written to Mr. Chamberlain, 
without the knowledge of the others, asking him to 
bring some English mistletoe with him. He appre- 
ciated the request so thoroughly that he did not tell 
even Harry about it. So no one except the two 
conspirators knew that the space beneath the chan- 
delier in the front parlor was to be a dangerous 
spot, and Helen had resolved to avoid it carefully. 

What an air of mystery did pervade that house 
as the day drew nearer. At last it came. The 
clock had hardly finished striking five that Christ- 
mas morning when the whole household were 
aroused by the deacon. They assembled in the 
front parlor, wishing each other a “ Merry Christ- 


HOME AGAIN. 223 

mas,” and beaming with that wondrous joy that 
comes to us at Christmas-tide alone. 

Suddenly, by some system of scheming known 
only to good Deacon Doner, the doors opening into 
the back parlor were flung back, and there before 
their dancing eyes stood a brilliant sparkling 
Christmas tree, set against a background of holly, 
bright with its glowing red berries. There was 
much in the detail of the tree’s decoration to be 
admired, and the deacon was overwhelmed with 
congratulations on his success. 

While the tapers were shining their brightest, 
Mr. Doner beckoned Helen to the piano. They 
all gathered around her and fllled the rooms with 
the sound of joyous Christmas carols. Then the 
deacon read those words, so old, yet ever new, the 
story of the Christ-child’s birth, as it has been re- 
corded by the inspired Tuke. After this there fol- 
lowed a heart-felt prayer, then a few more Christ- 
mas songs. Then came the benediction. 

The close of this sweet service found Harry 
Chamberlain and his father both in tears; for dif- 
ferent reasons, however. Mr. Chamberlain was a 
stanch and faithful member of the Anglican 
Church. He knew what he believed, and believed 
it from a strong inward conviction. 

Harry had been duly instructed and confirmed. 


224 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


but after his mother’s death he had grown very 
careless about matters of faith. He did not siuk 
into a gross, immoral life, by any means ; but he 
began to doubt the doctrines which he had been 
taught as being the Word of God. When these 
doubts began to assail him, he made no efforts to 
banish them. He was at college, and moving in a 
set of young men who would have been ashamed to 
discuss a doctrine, or even to entertain a serious 
religious thought. Thus he had drifted away from 
the moorings where his mother had been so happy 
to see his life’s vessel secured. And, although not 
an outspoken infidel, yet he could not have been 
said any longer to possess much faith in the God of 
the Bible. 

His father had seen this change with a sad, sad 
heart. He had a certain hope that Harry would 
return to his faith as soon as the right thing hap- 
pened, in God’s mercy, to lead him back again; 
and he was certain that this same thing would 
eventually happen. But he had waited many, 
many, weary, weary months for it, and it seemed 
as far away as ever. As he sat there with bowed 
head, listening to that sweet Christmas music, tears 
began to steal softly down his cheeks. He thought 
of Harry’s mother, and of his own dear daughters, 
who had passed away so soon after their mother’s 


HOME AGAIN. 


225 


death. He thought of Harry, and, as he thought 
of him, he involuntarily looked up at his face. How 
his heart leaped. There, on Harry’s handsome face, 
was that soft and gentle look that used to be there 
when his mother talked to him of sacred things, 
and Harry’s eyes were as full of tears as his father’s. 

They all attended service later in the forenoon at 
St. Luke’s. It was a magnificent offering on the 
altar of the Lord God, this service of prayer and 
praise, of song and sermon, and Mr. Chamberlain 
was certain that He who had begun the good work 
in his boy was continuing it. Would Harry allow 
it to be finished? 

That afternoon they were all to drive out to the 
Doner farm, to stay there for a good old-fashioned 
Christmas dinner. They had rigged up one of the 
mill wagons on “bobs,” and it would afford room 
for all but two of the party. Mr. Chamberlain and 
Helen were accordingly to drive out in the cutter 
with Helen’s pony attached. At the last moment 
the old gentleman changed his mind, saying that 
he wanted to join the load in the “bob,” and that 
Harry could take his place in the cutter. Helen 
would have objected if she could well have done 
so, but the old gentleman was accustomed to hav- 
ing his own way with her, so there was little use 
in raising objections. 

15 


226 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


They were gliding over the smooth road now, 
the big load ahead and the cutter a few rods be- 
hind, but out of earshot from it. 

‘‘Who were those young girls that came to you 
after the service this morning and presented you 
the Bible dictionary, Miss Helen?” said Harry 
after they had fairly started. 

“Oh, those were the scholars of my Sunday- 
school class,” answered Helen. 

“Do you mean to say that you teach a class in 
the Sunday-school?” 

“ Certainly. Why shouldn’t I ?” 

“Well, most of the girls I have ever met would 
object on the ground of its taking too much time. 
You know, a young miss just beginning to enjoy 
life can hardly be expected to devote the time she 
should have for her toilet, and calls, and receptions 
and things, to theology.” 

“You talk just like Corine, Mr. Chamberlain. 
I am sure that I have never noticed that my Sun- 
day-school work took away any of the time that be- 
longed to other affairs. Besides, if it did, it would 
make no difference with me. It is surely our duty 
to pay a proper share of our attention to religious 
work.” 

“But isn’t it as well to leave those matters to 
the older people?” 


HOME AGAIN. 


227 


“Mr. Chamberlain, if I profess to be a Christian, 
and fail to do a Christian’s duty, how can I respect 
myself? I would rather be a professed unbeliever 
than to be a hypocrite.” 

“ That is true enough. But what I mean is that 
it is just as well to leave the whole matter of re- 
ligion to our later years in life. It seems to me 
there is something in youth that is not compatible 
with faith, and at the same time there is something 
in the experience that comes with older years that 
is necessary to true religion.” 

“I see what is the trouble with you, Mr. Cham- 
berlain. There is most assuredly something that 
is antagonistic to faith in the heart of the young. 
But you are mistaken if you think that same 
enemy is not found in the heart as it grows older. 
As for certain experiences that are necessary before 
we can truly and earnestly believe, you are again 
quite right. But they are not the experiences that 
necessarily come with age. They are the experi- 
ences that we have when God’s Word is leading 
us to a knowledge of our sins and to repentance on 
their account. I am afraid your whole idea of re- 
ligion is a false one. You seem to regard it as a 
philosophical theory for the mind, whereas it is a 
divine revelation for the soul.” 

“I wish I could believe that. Miss Helen.” 


228 


HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“ Believe what ?” 

“Well, that the Bible is a direct revelation from 
God.’» 

“Why, Mr. Chamberlain, do you not believe in 
the Bible?” 

“Yes, I think I do. But I am convinced that I 
do not believe it as you do, both from what you 
say in regard to the Bible, and from the effect of 
your convictions as seen in your life.” 

“Well, what is your faith in God ?” 

“Now, Miss Helen, I am afraid you are trying 
to put me into the pulpit.” Harry was beginning 
to wish that the talk on this subject had not run 
into so thorough a discussion. He wondered what 
his chums at Oxford, especially Jack Reefer, would 
say, if they saw him there, talking theology with 
a young American woman who taught Sunday- 
school, and who had the courage of her convictions. 
He saw a look of disappointment on his compan- 
ion’s face, however, and he thought to himself, 
“I care more for her opinion than for that of the 
boys.” So he continued : 

“But I’ll tell you. I believe in God and I re- 
spect the Bible. I think there is a great amount 
of truth in the Bible, and I hold its moral laws to 
be the standard of all morality. But when it 
comes to believing that everything in the Bible is 


HOME AGAIN. 


229 


God’s Word, and that all its doctrines are true, I 
must confess that I do not see my way clear to say- 
ing I am a believer in that sense. I hope you will 
not think me a rogue on this account. Miss Helen;” 
and there was much anxiety in his tone. 

Helen smiled. There were both sweetness and 
sadness in her smile. 

“No, indeed,” she answered, more brightly and 
cheerfully even than he had dared to hope she 
would. He had been sorry that he could not tell 
her a different story of his faith. Another would 
have dissembled. But there was no trace of that 
kind of guile in Harry Chamberlain, that deceives 
and dissembles. He had not thought of it before, 
but just now it seemed to him that he would rather 
lose his right hand than the good opinion and 
friendship of this young woman by his side. But 
he could not deceive her, not even to gain that 
opinion. He was a close observer, and in the 
pleasant days at Liverpool and at London and at 
Paris he had been astonished at her perfect woman- 
liness. He had said to his father : 

“What a difference there is between Miss Helen 
and Miss Corine.” 

“In whose favor?” demanded the old man, 
smiling. 

“Just as though you did not know, father.” 


230 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


‘‘Well, well, perhaps I do. But, Harry boy, 
most people fail to see these subtile differences, 
they seem so insignificant and unimportant. But 
these slight differences in appearance and action 
are indications of great differences in character, 
and they go far to make happiness or unhappiness in 
this world — and in the world to come. ’ ’ For the old 
gentleman had been quick to observe that Helen’s 
heart was deeply pious, and that Corine’s was not. 

He had tried to talk to Corine about it one even- 
ing, but all the reward he received for his pains 
was, “Why, Mr. Chamberlain, you talk just like 
Helen does, and she and I do not agree on that 
subject at all.” Whereat Helen’s stock in the old 
man’s opinion immediately rose still higher, and 
Corine’s correspondingly fell. 

When Helen assured Harry so warmly that she 
did not think him a “rogue,” he was more pleased 
than she for a minute imagined. She could notice 
that her answer pleased him. He was too trans- 
parent a fellow to hide his feelings successfully. 
But she did not know what a load she had lifted 
from his mind. He simply asked, “Why not?” 
Helen burst into so merry a laugh that he for a 
moment doubted whether she were taking the 
matter seriously. Her words, however, soon re- 
assured him that she was. 


HOME AGAIN. 


231 


“Why/’ she explained, “there are several 
reasons. In the first place, because I am almost 
certain that you will not always cling to these false 
views. Corine thinks about as you do, but I know 
she has been drawing nearer the truth every day. 
I used to feel so bad, and almost despaired of ever 
seeing her change, but you cannot imagine what a 
change has already taken place in her. Her going 
to college now may bring on a relapse, but in the 
end she will embrace the truth, I know; and you 
will, too. In the next place, what would it help 
you or me or anybody else if I were to get angry 
and refuse to consider you as being worthy of 
my esteem, because you have confided to me 
that you have sincere doubts? I think that 
is exactly how some Christians help drive souls 
away from God. They can not listen even' to 
an honest statement of another’s doubts, and 
expect everybody to look at things with fully 
enlightened eyes before they have helped him to 
get eyes that can see. Now, I am dreadfully in- 
tolerant of any false doctrine, but I am not intoler- 
ant of a man or of a woman who happens to be the 
victim of false doctrine. In the third place, the 
circumstance that you say you wish you could be a 
firm believer is sufiicient proof that you will one 
day be one. For the Bible says, ‘Seek, and ye 


232 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

shall find/ and it says, ‘Him thatconieth unto Me 
I will in no wise cast out’ If I expect to meet 
you as a saved soul in heaven, how can I treat you 
as a rogue here ? ’ ’ 

Harry was amazed. None of the young people 
of his acquaintance had ever talked so to him, 
none of them could talk so, none of them would 
talk so to him if they could, and here was this 
young girl talking to him as though she were his 
own mother. 

“She is just like mother was, too,” he thought 
“Strange that I did not notice it before.” 

“Miss Doner,” he cried, “where in the world 
did you learn to talk to a man in that fashion? I 
believe if you were our rector at Liverpool instead 

of that scholarly and renowned Doctor , I might 

be a solid pillar of the church to-day. As it is, I 
have another confession to make. I have not been 

in Doctor ’s church in the last two years as 

often as I have gone to service since I have been 
here in Riverton. What do you think of that?” 

“It is just what I expected,” said she. “But I 
have been wanting to ask you what you think of 
our pastor’s sermons. I have been afraid to ask 
before, because I suspected that you were a stray 
sheep of the flock.” 

“I can truthfully say that your pastor has made 


HOME AGAIN. 


233 


a deep impression on me. Indeed, I am positive 
if I had not heard that sermon this morning we 
would not now be discussing these affairs.” 

“I am so glad,” Helen said. And then they 
both lapsed into a silence that was not unpleasant. 

What their thoughts were you will have to im- 
agine. Nor did either of them speak until they 
were turning the corner into the lane that led from 
the road up to the old homestead. There Helen 
said, “I want you to promise me something.” 

“What is it?” asked he. 

“That you will let our pastor talk to you about 
these things.” 

“I’d rather have you do my preaching. Miss 
Helen, and I assure you it will do me more good.” 

“ No, it would not. The force of preaching lies 
in the Word of God itself, and not in the person 
who preaches it. Pastor Denton knows more 
about the Word and how to apply it than I do. I 
am only a very poor scholar of his at the best.” 

“Don’t say that, Hele — , Miss Helen. You 
know you have been the only one who could make 
the Word touch my skeptical old heart as it has 
not been touched for years.” 

“Will you promise?” said she simply. 

“ If I must, yes.” 

She rewarded him with a smile that seemed like 


234 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


a glimpse of lost paradise to him. Then they 
joined the others, who were already alighting. 

They had no opportunity to renew their con- 
versation that day, for they returned as part of the 
load in the big sled, Mr. Doner and Mr. Chamber- 
lain driving home in the cutter. 


CHAPTER XV. 


GOOD-BYE. 

It was not later than seven when they returned 
to the Doner home in town, and the plans were 
that they would spend the evening in having a 
good, sociable time. While the others were in the 
sitting room getting off their wraps and warming 
their toes, Helen excused herself in order to go in 
and light the lamps in the parlor. Harry volun- 
teered to help her, but she thanked him, saying 
that his father had promised to be her assistant. 

After they left the room, Mr. Chamberlain 
slipped noiselessly up stairs, and soon appeared 
with the precious mistletoe. This they affixed to 
the chandelier in the front parlor before they had 
lighted the lamps, as it was still a secret between 
them and they wanted to guard the secret care- 
fully. When the others came in later, none of 
them noticed it except Harry. Whether his eye 
was specially practiced in seeing the mistletoe, or 
whether he suspected that his father and Helen 
had some special plans when they withdrew to 
light the lamps, I do not know. 

(235) 


236 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


At any rate, they had not been in the room five 
minutes when Helen stepped up to turn down one 
of the wicks that was turned too high, and, ere she 
herself had time to think what was happening, both 
Harry and his father were hurrying toward her. 
The others were alarmed, thinking that the lamp 
must be exploding. Corine screamed and ran 
toward the door. Then two resounding kisses were 
heard. It was difficult to determine who held the 
honor of having reached Helen first; but Mr. Cham- 
berlain resolutely insisted that that distinction be- 
longed to him, and Harry, thereupon, gracefully 
yielded in favor of his father. 

As for Helen, she had escaped into the hall 
where she was trying to wipe away her blushes. 
When she reappeared she was greeted with a peal 
of laughter. “To think that I was the first one to 
be caught in my own trap,” she protested, still 
blushing. But just then attention was diverted 
from her, for Mr. Chamberlain and Harry again 
sprang forward, this time joined by Mr. Doner, and 
grandma was receiving a hearty salute under the 
mistletoe. 

The evening, begun in this lively manner, was 
agreeably spent from beginning to end. There was 
only one thing to cast a shadow now and then into 
their hearts. That was the thought of the depart- 


GOOD-BYE. 237 

ure of Mr. Chamberlain and Harry. They were 
to leave in the evening of the next day. 

Whenever Helen happened to think of that, she 
felt sad in spite of herself; she hardly knew why, 
and yet she had quite certain suspicions. 

It was the same with Mr. Chamberlain. Al- 
though he and Harry intended to make an extens- 
ive tour of the western states, going through 
Ohio, Michigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin, and so on 
west to the Pacific coast, yet he always associated 
his leaving Riverton with returning to his own 
home at Liverpool, and somehow this home had 
seemed drearier than ever since that summers visit 
of the Doner party. 

As for Harry, he frankly confessed to himself 
that he disliked to leave Riverton because Helen 
Doner lived in Riverton, and he wanted to be 
where she was. 

Even the deacon was a little gloomy at times 
that evening. He always had a spell of the 
“blues” when visitors whom he liked left his 
house. 

But the evening was a delightfully pleasant one 
in spite of this undercurrent of sadness that filled 
their hearts. When Corine left that evening, she 
said, “Oh, I wish every day were Christmas, and 
we could all spend all the Christmases right here 


238 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


at Uncle Frank’s.” She did not say exactly what 
she was thinking, that she wished the common 
every-days at her home were something like those 
at her uncle’s. She was thinking that, perhaps, 
if she had a home like Helen’s she would be as 
content to stay at home from college as was Helen. 
Her father, and even her mother, were thinking 
similar thoughts and wishing similar wishes. 
Would their hopes ever be realized? Not until 
they would cease simply wishing and allow them- 
selves to be induced to take those necessary steps 
without which no family has ever had a home that 
was a home in truth, steps leading toward Jesus 
Christ. 

Harry was nothing if he was not a manly fellow. 
The next morning, without having any pretext, 
he called at Pastor Denton’s. He was given a 
welcome that made him wonder how a man of 
books and sermons could still be so much a man of 
heart and soul, and in such evident touch with his 
fellow beings on earth. He stated his case at once, 
and in a straightforward manner. 

‘ ‘ I have come to see you, sir, because I yester- 
day promised Miss Doner that I would. There was 
something in your discourse yesterday morning 
that put me into a mood that had not come over 
me for years. While I was in this mood, Miss 


GOOD-BYE. 239 

Doner and I drifted into a conversation that con- 
cerned the state of my own soul. She referred me 
to you, after she had made what I thought would 
surely in the end be a successful effort on her 
part at reclaiming my run-away soul. She says 
that you can do me more good, and, at the same 
time, more substantial good than she could ever 
dream of doing. And, sir, if you can, no one will 
be happier than your humble servant himself; for, 
to tell the whole truth, I have not found a jot of 
satisfaction in entertaining the doubts that have 
come into my heart, and yet I have not been able 
to drive them away. ’ ’ 

“I like your frankness, young man,” said the 
pastor. “Now, do you think that you can give 
me a history of these doubts that have been 
troubling you, and tell me to what extent they 
have had an effect on your faith and your life?” 

Harry soon found himself talking to the pastor 
as he would have talked to his mother. It seemed 
to him while the pastor was talking to him as 
though God himself were speaking, gently and 
kindly, as a father would talk to a child which 
he dearly loved. When he left the parsonage, he 
was wondering how he could have been such a fool 
all these years, and when the train pulled out from 
the station that evening he made a clean breast of 


240 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


the whole affair to his father, and his father said, 
“Well, well, Harry. God bless you, my boy;’’ 
and nobody could know better than Harry did how 
much his father meant. 

When it was almost time for the ’bus to arrive 
that evening to take Harry and his father down to 
“make” the eleven o’clock train, Harry had a few 
words with Helen alone in the hall, where she had 
gone to fetch his hat and coat. 

“Miss Helen,” he said, and Helen thought he 
had never looked so handsome and manly, “I 
shall write to you after we are gone, and will you 
answer if I do ? ” 

There was no time for thought, so she simply 
said, “Yes, if mamma and papa allow me.” 

Then there was the rattle of wheels outside, the 
sharp breath of the wind as the door was opened, 
hasty farewells, and Harry and his father were gone. 

Two weeks later Corine went away; and if 
Helen had not been so busy with her home duties 
and her music lessons, she would undoubtedly have 
been extremely lonely. But her routine of daily 
duty was so pleasant, and she was so much inter- 
ested in her pipe-organ lessons, that the “blues” 
could not last long. As for her and Corine and 
Harry, I am positive that you would have found 
Helen the happiest. 


GOOD-BYK. 


241 


Truly, “godliness with contentment is great 
gain,’’ for we find Helen happier at home with her 
plain household duties, than Corine with the ex- 
citement of college life and the gratification of a 
great ambition, and Harry with the whirl of travel. 
But then — as we have seen, Harry had special 
reasons for not being entirely satisfied. 

16 


CHAPTER XVI. 


A summer’s outing. 

Helen’s “blues” were abruptly terminated by 
a letter she received three days after the gentlemen 
had left Riverton. It was from Harry, of course; 
and a livelier, racier, more entertaining letter 
Helen had never had addressed to her. Her corre- 
spondence so far had been entirely with her school- 
girl acquaintances, so that Harry’s letter was in 
the nature of an entire novelty to her. 

He addressed her as his friend, and told her 
about the different cities they had visited. He 
seemed to see the humorous side of everything and 
had a peculiarly attractive way of expressing him- 
self even about those things which were not in 
themselves interesting. He also spoke of her 
“sermon” to him, for so he persisted in calling it, 
and of the talk he had had with Pastor Denton. 

Helen could see that the impression which had 
been made on his soul at Riverton was not by any 
means effaced. It had, if anything, been made 
deeper since he had left his teachers. She was 
(242) 


A summer’s outing. 


243 


glad for this, as she had been fearing that perhaps 
after Harry was out in the world again he would 
forget the wholesome lessons which the pastor and 
she had been instrumental in teaching him. 

Mr. and Mrs. Doner had told Helen that she 
might write to Harry. She had asked her mother 
whether she wished to read her letters; but her 
mother had said that she trusted her enough not to 
require that. When her mother said that, she knew 
that her trust in Helen would not be misplaced, 
and knew, likewise, that confidence begets con- 
fidence, and that a child will be much less likely 
to deceive its parents when it is trusted, than when 
it notices that its every movement is watched as if 
it were a criminal. So Helen and Harry wrote to 
each other regularly, and life seemed happier for 
both of them. 

Harry’s father was delighted. These old years 
of his life were being filled with warm sunshine, 
instead of the chilly shadows he had seen approach- 
ing only a few months before. Harry often would 
hand his letters from Helen over to his father 
when he had perused them himself, and the old 
man grew almost as anxious for their arrival as 
was Harry himself. 

Corine also corresponded regularly with Helen. 
Helen observed that her cousin was becoming more 


244 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


and more confirmed in her strange views. It 
seemed as if the influence of her college associa- 
tions were entirely efiacing the good impressions 
that had gradually been made upon her. Helen 
said nothing to her in her letters, however, for she 
had learned to feel confident that it would turn out 
aright in the end even with Corine. 

The first letter that Helen received from Harry 
after he had returned to England led her into a 
long train of musing. She read it and reread it, 
and read it again. It was in the following June, 
and she had been swinging idly in the hammock 
that summer’s afternoon. To tell the truth, she 
had been thinking of Harry as she idled there, 
wondering whether he had yet reached his home, 
and whether his letters would be as regular after 
he found himself once more among his old friends, 
as they had been while he was traveling about. 
The post was brought to her by the neighbor’s 
boy, whom she had hailed as he went down the 
street a few minutes before, and Helen at once 
opened her one letter with eager hands. After the 
three perusals, she laid the pages in her lap and 
drifted away off, beyond the woods in the distance, 
beyond the clouds far away in the bright blue sky, 
into the future. 

She must have seen some very pretty things 


A summer’s outing. 


245 


away off there beyond the fleecy clouds, for she 
smiled and looked serenely happy, and fell into a 
light sleep that seemed to carry her still farther 
away into still pleasanter scenes. She awak- 
ened as gradually as she had fallen asleep, and was 
just beginning to wonder where she might be, 
when a voice close by called out : 

“Hello there, Nellie, why don’t you jump up 
and embrace me ? ’ ’ 

She did jump up at that, and, moreover, she did 
embrace the speaker, for there stood Corine. 

“Why, you naughty girl,” she cried, kissing 
her and devouring her with her eyes. “When in 
the world did you come? And why didn’t you 
tell me about it? I thought you were going to 
spend a week in the mountains before you came 
home.” 

“ ‘The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang 
aft agley,’ ” quoted Corine, “and it seems the 
schemes o’ women gang likewise. I think there 
ought to be an exception in their favor, for they 
have so many other disadvantages. But say, 
Helen, what makes you look so awfully happy? 
Is it that letter you have just dropped by jumping 
up so unceremoniously?” 

“Well, didn’t you tell me to jump up?” re- 
turned Helen, as she hastily gathered up the pre- 


246 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


cious pages and tried to look unconscious. “ Why 
didn’t you go to the mountains? Here, take the 
hammock, while I run in and bring a chair from 
the porch.” 

“ O dear no, don’t do that. I haven’t been home 
yet, just ran in while mamma was speaking to 
Mrs. Baird about some society business. I’ll tell 
you about my change of plans some other time. 
What I want to know now is about the letter that 
makes you look as if you had been in the seventh 
heaven. It’s from Harry, of course; that goes with- 
out saying. But what has he written ?” 

“I think you are mistaken about my looks, 
Corine, and about the letter’s having any effect on 
them. But I will tell you what he writes, since you 
have guessed who did the writing.” 

“Guessed?” laughed Corine. “Why, Nellie, I 
didn’t guess; I simply said something that was as 
plainly to be seen as the trees or the flower-bed 
over there.” 

“Corine Hereford, I think you’re just horrid, 
and I will not tell you now what he has written, 
so there.” 

“O yes you will, Nellie; you know you can’t be 
so ugly as that when I’ve only just come back.” 

“Well, if you really waut to know, it is this. 
Harry is coming to America to stay, next fall. It 


A summer’s outing. 


247 


seems his trip last winter was as much of a pros- 
pecting tour as anything else, and he was looking 
about for a good location for some kind of a manu- 
facturing concern that he intends to establish. He 
writes that, unless he and his father are both much 
mistaken, there is a splendid opening at X., and 
they will begin operations there next fall for 
certain.” 

“Aha, that’s it, eh? How perfectly lovely that 
will be. X. is just about ninety miles from River- 
ton, isn’t it? You can get there by rail and by water. 
Nellie, Harry is certainly a truthful boy. He was 
prospecting, no doubt, but he finished before he left 
Riverton. There he found a treasure that can’t be 
equaled in England ; and, unless he and his father 
are both very much mistaken, X. will be a splendid 
place to settle down and proceed with the final 
operations of getting possession of that treasure. ’ ’ 

“Corine,” Helen was blushing furiously, “it’s 
perfectly horrid of you to say such things. You 
know that Harry’s letter means no such thing.” 

“Well, perhaps his letter doesn’t; but mark my 
word, he does; so where’s the difference? I see the 
results as plainly as I ever care to see anything. 
Nellie, inside of three years from now you will be 
Mrs. Harry Chamberlain, and there is no use in 
your denying it.” 


248 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Well,” said Helen, suddenly changing her 
ground, “if I am, nobody will be prouder of any- 
thing than I will be of that” 

“That’s right; you may as well confess it tome, 
Nellie. Now, before it’s too late I want to give you 
some advice. Of course, I congratulate you, and alV 
that But I think this will be a very foolish thing 
for you to do. This thing of devoting the very 
best years of our lives to a husband and a family, I 
don’t believe in. I think that’s where most women 
throw away their chances. The first fine man that 
comes along and condescends to ask them for their 
hand in marriage they accept, and so the men go 
on, getting more independent every day, and we 
poor women are regarded as inferior creatures, 
who — ’ ’ 

“ Corine, you know there’s no use in talking that 
way to me. Tet’s talk about something else now.” 

“ All right If you will not listen, I suppose you 
will not, but I regarded it as my duty to tell you. 
There’s mamma, waving to me frantically. I’ll 
have to go. Come over to-night, Nellie.” 

“All right, I will.” 

Mr. Doner was just coming home for the even- 
ing. Helen joined him, and they went in to supper. 
That evening as they were returning from the 
Herefords’, she told her parents of Harry’s plans. 


A summer’s outing. 


249 


“Yes,” said her father, “Mr. Chamberlain 
wrote me some weeks ago in regard to the plan, 
and I heartily endorsed it. With Harry at the 
head of an establishment of that kind, success is 
almost a foregone conclusion.” 

Harry came toward the end of September. He 
stayed only a day and a half at Riverton, as he was 
in a hurry to reach X. and close up the transaction 
for the lease of the property, and then go to Chicago 
to place his orders for the necessary machinery. 
He had projected a trip to the lumber regions of 
northern Michigan after that, and he expected that 
things would be far enough along by the time he 
returned to X. to enable him to begin certain alter- 
ations in the factory he had leased, the tenant who 
was then holding it being expected to vacate about 
the end of November. 

“I’ll be back, though, by Christmas,” said he, 
in as cheery a voice as he could assume, “and 
nothing could please me more than if we could 
have a Christmas just like last year’s. You can 
tell the rector that I’d like to hear that same ser- 
mon again,” and off he hurried to the station. 

Corine was at college again, distinguishing her- 
self as a senior, and did not meet Harry on that 
visit. Christmas brought them both to Riverton, 
however, and Corine began to be a little less 


250 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


certain about the soundness of the advice she had 
given Helen, for Harry had not lost a bit of that 
genuine gentlemanliness that so distinguished 
him. She actually began to envy Helen some- 
what, for she still insisted that Harry and Helen 
were destined to be man and wife at a not very 
distant day, although no cards had yet appeared 
announcing a fact of so great importance. 

The holidays were spent just as happily as those 
of the preceding winter, perhaps a trifle more so, 
for we enjoy these things more intelligently, and 
for that reason more thoroughly, as we grow older. 

The absence of Mr. Chamberlain was felt by them 
all, although he was well represented by means of 
a large package, containing gifts for each one, and 
a letter for them all together, wishing them a 
happy Christian Christmas, and assuring them that 
in spirit he was with them, and that he could 
imagine just what they were all doing. 

Harry remained until the day after New Year’s, 
and then reluctantly returned to X., where he threw 
himself into his new field of work with a vim and 
a wisdom that soon put the venture beyond the 
stages of a mere experiment, and assured him of a 
permanent source of occupation and independent 
income. 

He was a tremendous worker himself, and ex- 


A summer’s outing. 


251 


pected his employes to work. He personally super- 
intended as much of the establishment as he pos- 
sibly could, even to the engaging and disciplining 
of the commonest employes, treating them with so 
much knowledge of human nature and so much 
consideration of human weakness that he never 
had a complaint from their quarter. 

Mr. Doner ran up to X. in March, and returned 
with much gratification at his young friend’s suc- 
cess. Mr. Chamberlain had asked him to have an 
eye on the boy, and he was glad to be of service to 
his old friend in any way. 

“That boy will make his mark,” said the 
deacon on the evening of his return to Riverton, 
“ and it will not take him a hundred years to do it, 
either. He has selected a very fine town as a loca- 
tion, too. I had no idea that it was as good a 
town as it seems to be. It must be a very pleasant 
place in the summer. If everything goes all right 
I shall go up again in July. I have half a mind 
to take some of you along; I know nothing would 
please Harry more, and, as his father will be here 
then, we can make a pleasant outing of it.” 

“Wouldn’t that be delightful?” said Helen. 
“ But it’s queer to hear papa making plans so long 
ahead.” 

“Well, I am surely carried away with that 


252 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


town, and would like to spend a few weeks there 
myself. You see, I am getting older, Helen, and 
begin to appreciate holidays more. Ever since 
that delightful summer in England, I have been 
thinking of a possible repetition of its pleasures, 
and it struck me that the same people getting to- 
gether on this side of the water might succeed in 
having a good time again. Harry will not be 
busy then. It is their slack season ; they generally 
close that kind of factories for repairs and inven- 
tory.’’ 

“Well, I hope you will still be in the notion 
when July comes, papa,” said Helen, as she kissed 
him “good night.” 

In June Helen attended the commencement at 
the college where Corine was to be graduated. 
Corine had finished the course with a splendid 
record for scholarship, and stood head and shoulders 
above all the others in her class. Her triumph 
was a signal one, and Helen could not help think- 
ing how much more of an affair graduating at 

College was than graduating at Riverton 

High School. Still, after Corine had finished her 
brilliant address and the applause had died away, 
she could not convince herself that she wished 
she were in Corine’s place, for it seemed to her 
that her dear cousin was drifting farther and 


A summkr’s outing. 


253 


farther away from what she considered the ideal of 
womanhood. It was beginning to show in Corine’s 
manner, too. There was a sort of freedom and 
boldness about it that was sometimes almost re- 
pulsive to Helen. In conversation Corine would 
advance ideas so startling, that sometimes Helen 
could hardly recognize the cousin who, only a few 
years before, had been her schoolmate and con- 
stant companion. 

When they returned to Riverton they found their 
parents actively planning the summer outing at X. 
Both girls at once threw themselves with heart and 
soul into the project, and soon everything else was 
forgotten in the excitement of wardrobes and pack- 
ing, and time-tables and hotels. 

On the second of July they set out, the party 
comprising Mr. and Mrs. Doner, Helen and Erwin, 
and the Herefords. There was not much grain 
coming in at the elevator at this time, so the busi- 
ness could easily be left in charge of the other 
partners. 

They reached X. on the evening of the same day, 
having made the trip partly by rail and partly by 
water. Harry met them at the dock and saw them 

lodged at the R house, then hurried off to meet 

his father, who was expected to arrive on the late 
train from the east. 


254 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


Then followed days of pure pleasure; driving, row- 
ing, fishing, excursions up the river to the summer 
hotels, moonlight rides on the river-boats, all these 
went together to make a delightful time. They 
had met John Perkins a few days after their arrival, 
and had persuaded him to extend his stay, and he 
accompanied them in the most of their excursions. 

One evening as they were returning from a trip 
up to one of the club-houses, Harry proposed that 
they try a sail on the following day. 

“Several of us down at the factory have bought 
a small yacht together — some of the office fellows, 
and one of the men in the shop, and myself. None 
of us has ever sailed much except this man, but 
ril get him to go with us. We’ll not venture out 
into the lake, only across to the island; and I am 
sure you will all enjoy sailing.’’ 

“Isn’t there any danger?” asked Corine. 

“Well, yes, I suppose there is,” he answered, 
“but not enough to keep many people off the 
water. Haven’t you noticed how white the river 
is with sails some afternoons when the breeze is 
favorable ? ’ ’ 

“Yes, I have. Just think how many were out 
on the Fourth. But I have wondered that people 
risk their lives on the water in those little boats 
with such large sails. Why, sometimes they lean 


A summer’s outing. 


255 


over so, that a person is positive that they will 
capsize. And I am sure that I have read of a great 
many accidents on this very river.” 

“Undoubtedly. Butin all these cases, at least 
in the majority of them, you will find that the 
yachts which capsized had kegs on board, and that 
the kegs were empty and the men who were 
pitched overboard contained the contents of the 
kegs. In other cases it is that the sailors were in- 
experienced. I would not think of taking you out 
alone, but this Dawson is an experienced sailor, 
and above all else he is extremely careful — ^almost 
too careful, in fact, if such a thing could be. But 
if any of you have any hesitation about going, we 
will not attempt the trip.” 

This proposition, however, did not meet with 
the approval of the young folks, who had all 
become interested. Erwin objected on the ground 
that he had an engagement with some boys he had 
met at the hotel. But Harry promised to take him 
sailing another day, so it was arranged that they 
would try the yacht on the following morning. 

It was quite early when they gathered at the 
dock up the river on the next day, but they found 
that Dawson had everything in readiness for them. 
He was fastening down a few ropes, and they had 
occasion to notice how precisely and carefully he 


256 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


did everything. He was a strong, “ tallish ’’ man, 
his face browned with the heat and the sun, his 
hands hard and calloused with toil. He seemed 
just the man to handle a yacht carefully and firmly. 
Still, his appearance did not exactly inspire con- 
fidence, for his excessive caution and carefulness 
had given him a sort of anxious look that gave one 
the impression that his care arose from timidity. 

A fine brisk breeze was blowing aslant the river. 
Where they were standing, sheltered somewhat by 
a high bluff that rose from the bank, the wind was 
only strong enough to start the yacht acceptably, 
but out beyond the white-caps were rolling merrily 
along, and there was promise of some fine sport. 

The parents had not joined the sailing party, say- 
ing that they preferred to take the ferry-boat and 
meet the young people on the island. The young 
people had no objections to this arrangement. They 
were only eager for the novel sport. 

Off they started now, Harry watching the jib- 
ropes, Dawson handling the tiller and the main- 
sail. They moved somewhat slowly out from the 
shore, their course lying slightly up the river, so 
as to catch the wind to best advantage. John and 
the girls, who had never sailed before, “ took ’’ to 
the easy motion at once, and exclaimed that they 
were in no haste to reach the island, asking whether 
they could not sail up into the lake a piece. 


A summer’s outing. 


257 


“I should think we could,” said Harry, as he 
looked to Dawson. But Dawson was so carefully 
scanning his main-sail and so closely watching the 
course of the boat that he gave no answer. 

Just then the boat began to quicken her pace and 
at the same time to lean over considerably to one 
side. The girls promptly grew nervous. But 
Harry only laughed at them. 

“Why, this is just the sport of yachting,” cried 
he. “ See how that boat yonder is leaning. It’s 
exciting, you know.” And he laughed aloud at 
John, who was holding with a desperate clutch on 
the gunwale. 

But then he himself suddenly caught hold of the 
mast. If he had not, he would have been thrown 
headlong into the water. 

“What’s the matter, Dawson?” he shouted. 

Before Dawson could reply, the boat was again 
carried over on its beam. Corine was thrown 
violently into the bottom of the yacht. 

Dawson was standing up now, tugging with all 
his might at the sheet, and pressing the tiller with 
his knee. 

“Wind’s pretty strong out here,” he shouted 
back. “We ought to have taken a reef when we 
started, but we’re in for it now.” 

John had pulled Corine up on the seat again as 

17 


258 HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 

well as he could. The two girls sat there, their 
faces white, their hands holding each other close. 
John stood helpless by, not knowing what to do. 

“Watch your ropes, Mr. Chamberlain,” they 
could hear Dawson shouting. “We’ll have to 
come about if we can.” 

Through the dashing spray they could see Harry, 
steady as a clock, nucleating the ropes. 

The next moment the girls were both on the 
floor. A mass of water was tumbling in on them. 
John narrowly escaped rolling overboard. 

The boat righted momentarily, and he regained 
his balance. He took Helen up hastily and set her 
down quickly. Without looking to see whether 
she could retain her seat, he bent over Corine. 

“Give me your hand, Corine,” he called. 

Corine lay there as if lifeless. She made no re- 
sponse when he took her hand and called to her 
again. 

“O God, she’s dead! ” he groaned, as he noticed 
how white her face was, and that her features were 
firmly set. A gash in her forehead was bleeding. 
She had been lying with her face in the water, 
that now stood inches deep in the boat. 

He raised her lifeless form in his arms and was 
trying to think where to lay her down, when he 
was struck a stunning blow on the head, and fell 


A summer’s outing. 


259 


forward. The sound of rushing water gurgled in 
his ears. There was a splash, and he fell, as it 
seemed to his excited mind, into the arms of some 
great monster of the deep. He struggled to raise 
Corine, shouting with all his might. 

Helen had not noticed what John did after he so 
roughly threw her on the seat. From some strange 
motive, she did not stop to wonder what it was, 
she moved forward as well as the ever unsteadier 
position of the boat would allow, over the cross- 
seat to the bow, where Harry was. 

“Can I do anything to help, Harry?” she called. 

“Yes, Helen, you can pray God for us,” and 
even then he wondered at her courage. “ I have 
been trying to pray, but the Lord will hear you 
rather than me. And wait, Helen,” as the boat 
again lurched over, “do you think you can hold 
these ropes and let them out if Dawson calls to do 
so? I want to try to get down that main-sail. If 
I know anything about it, that’s our only chance 
now. I don’t know why Dawson doesn’t bring 
the boat about. I half surmise he’s afraid to try 
it. Can you hold these, do you think?” 

“Yes, I can,” she said. 

“And Helen, if any thing happens, I want you 
to know that I loved you.” 

He stooped and kissed her as he pressed the 


26 o 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


ropes into her hand, and then sprang out on the 
little forward deck and began to tug at the 
halliards. 

It was like attempting a hopeless task. 

He knew that they were getting out where the 
wind was stronger, and it was evident that Dawson 
was at his wits’ end. 

Harry looked at the ropes that had been cleated 
down with Dawson’s utmost care, and a shudder 
of despair ran over him. They were fastened down 
so thoroughly that he saw only a mass of loops and 
twists. Besides, the rope was wet with spray, and 
seemed stiff and rigid as if cast in iron. 

Then Harry prayed — a great strong sob of his 
soul, knowing that if help were to come it must 
come from above. 

Then one turn of the rope yielded, he saw in a 
glance how it was wrapped, and in an instant the 
great sail came rushing down. He knew that the 
gaff would strike John’s head, but he was con- 
cerned to keep the sail from being carried against 
Helen by the wind, which had now grown fear- 
fully strong. 

“Let the ropes fly now, Helen,” he called, ‘‘and 
stoop down into the boat so that the sail will not 
carry you overboard.” 

She did so, and in a moment the yacht was 


A summer’s outing. 


261 


righted, the sail lying in a promiscuous mass in the 
boat, with John floundering and shouting beneath 
it, and the jib-ropes angrily switching the water. 

‘‘Well, we’re all safe now,” cried Harry cheer- 
fully, “and John and Corine are covered up snugly 
in the bargain. But I tell you, it was a close call. 
Are you hurt any. Miss Helen?” 

“No, only frightened. But look at Corine.” 

John had emerged from beneath the sail, still 
bearing his lifeless burden. 

“Let me see,” said Harry, feeling her pulse. 
“Poor girl, she has fainted. Lay her down here 
with her head in Miss Helen’s lap, John. And 
can you dip a little water in your hat?” 

“My hat’s gone,” said John. 

“ Here, take mine then.” 

John hurriedly dipped the water, and they began 
to bathe Corine’s face. 

Presently she opened her eyes. 

“Are all the rest drowned too?” she asked. 

“No, and you aren’t either,” and Helen laughed 
as she looked down into her face. 

Corine jumped to her feet. 

“Oh, are you sure we are all safe now?” she de- 
manded, trembling from head to foot. 

“Yes sir; safe, and wet too,” said John’s hearty 


voice. 


262 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Corine seemed relieved at hearing him. 

“I thought perhaps some of you had been 
washed overboard. I seem to be sort of dazed, and 
hadn’t seen anybody but Helen and Mr. Chamber- 
lain and Dawson.” 

“Well, there isn’t anybody else but John,” said 
Helen mischievously. “The folks didn’t come 
with us, you know.” 

The color returned to Corine’s cheeks at that. 

“Yes, yes, I know. But I feel better now. 
Can’t we go back to land and get some dry shoes 
to put on ? ” 

“I think we had better go over to the island,” 
said Harry. “The folks will be alarmed about us 
if we do not turn up soon, and you will have a 
better chance of getting some dry things to put on 
over there at the hotel than up here on the river 
bank. We can sail over with the jib, eh, Dawson ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Well, let us get things into a little better shape 
here. The boat looks more like a wreck than it 
does like anything else.” 

“It came near enough to being a wreck,” said 
Dawson. “ If we hadn’t had a boat that runs out 
of the wind, we would all be at the bottom of the 
river this moment, and it’s no less than twenty foot 
deep here, neither.” 


A summer’s outing. 


263 


‘‘ What I say is this,” responded Harry. “If we 
hadn’t had a merciful Father in heaven, and a 
woman on board that knows how to talk to that 
Father, I wouldn’t give a penny for our chances in 
a wind-squall like this with all our sail set, boat 
running out of the wind or not.” 

Nothing more was said, and in silence the men 
furled up the sail and set the jib. The wind was 
amply strong to carry them rapidly to the island. 

They were a rather crestfallen and bedraggled 
lot of sailors as they walked up the wide path to 
the hotel piazza in search of their parents. They 
frankly explained to these in what a perilous posi- 
tion they had been. 

Corine was immediately taken in charge by her 
anxious mother, but soon reappeared. The cut in 
her forehead was only slight, it having been caused 
by her striking the center-board box as she fell. 
She arranged her hair so as to cover it, and seemed 
none the worse for her experience except that her 
dress was not so fresh and clean as it might have 
been. But, as Helen’s was almost as bad, she was 
readily consoled, and the remainder of the day 
passed pleasantly enough, the parents hardly real- 
izing in what fearful peril their children had been, 
and the young folks being to all appearances their 
own natural selves again after their fright. 


264 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


A close observer might have noticed a difference 
in them all, however. Helen was as blithe as a 
bird, gayer and more cheerful even than ever. 
People sometimes are so when they have some- 
thing they wish to hide. Harry was restless and 
nervous. John and Corine were both strangely 
silent. And of the young folks all but Helen were 
glad as the day drew to its close and they returned 
to the city. 

Old Mr. Chamberlain did not get over his con- 
cern so soon as the others did, but that was quite 
natural. He referred to the adventure again and 
again. 

“It was a risky thing for you to do, boy,’’ he 
said, “to go out when the water was as rough and 
dangerous as it must have been. Don’t do it 
again.” 

“I should think I will not, father. But I 
trusted implicitly in Dawson’s experience and 
ability. He isn’t the sailor he pretends to be.” 

“Why, no sir,” added Helen quickly. “Mr. 
Dawson did not seem to know what to do when 
we got out there where the wind from off the bluff 
caught us ; and, if it hadn’t been that Mr. Harry 
kept cool and steady, we would all have been 
thrown overboard.” 

“Well, well, don’t let it happen again,” said 


A summer’s outing. 


265 


the old man; but he looked kindly at Helen and 
proudly at Harry, and was glad to hear that his 
boy had saved them from probable death. 

When they had returned to their hotel lodgings 
that evening, and Harry had retired with his 
father, he said; “Father, I have something I want 
to tell you, if you will hear it yet to-night.” 

“Well, well ; what is it, Harry?” 

“Why, it’s like this. This morning out there 
in the storm when I jumped up on the deck to try 
to get down the sail, I thought sure we were all in 
for certain death. I leaned over and told Helen 
Doner that I loved her, and I kissed her as I told 
her so. You may think I was rash and hasty, and 
under other circumstances I surely would have 
been if I had acted like that toward her. But, as 
I say, I was certain that we’d never get out of that 
gale alive; and so I did it, and it’s done, and I must 
say I’m not half sorry it is, for I would have done 
it, with your permission, sooner or later at any 
rate. I know I love her truly, and I know she is 
worthy of the truest love of a much better man 
than I am. So I’ve been thinking that, if you 
have no objections, I’ll speak to Mr. Doner to- 
morrow and ask him whether he will give his con- 
sent to my speaking more definitely with Helen. 
What do you say, father?” 


266 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


The old gentleman had turned away, and pre- 
tended to be busy arranging his pillow. 

“Well, Harry, well,” he finally said. “Don’t 
you think it would be more appropriate if I would 
speak to him for you?” 

“No, father, not in this country. People don’t 
do that here. And I’m sure I agree with them. 
I’ll feel much more manly if I go and speak to Mr. 
Doner myself, than if I skulk around here like a 
coward while you are with him pleading my 
cause.” 

“I suppose you’re right, Harry, so go on, and 
God bless you. I wonder what he will say to you. 
He is a very fine man, is Mr. Doner; I’ve had many 
a dealing with him, and have learned to esteem 
and to respect him highly. But these American 
cousins of ours are no end fond and proud of their 
daughters. I wonder what he will say, boy.” 

“What is bothering me more is what she will 
say,” answered Harry. 

“ Do you mean to say that if her father consents 
she may reverse the decision?” asked his father in 
surprise. 

“Why, certainly, father. The battle’s only 
half over, and the easy half at that, when I’ve 
seen her father. I am sure I do not want her to 
accept me just because he is willing; would you?” 


A summer’s outing. 


267 


“No, I suppose not, Harry boy; but if you 
have any trouble in getting her consent tell me, 
and I’ll speak to her for you myself. For she’s a 
precious girl, Harry, a precious girl.” 

“I’m glad you think so, father.” 

“When is this all to be done, Harry?” 

“ Oh, I intend to speak to Mr. Doner to-morrow 
morning before you and he start on that fishing 
trip, and if I can muster up the necessary courage 
I’ll speak to Helen in the afternoon when we go 
out to the old fort. You know we young ones had 
arranged to go out there in the afternoon.” 

“All right, Harry. Good night, and God bless 
you, boy. Come here.” 

Harry came, and, before he was aware of what his 
father wanted, the old man had grasped his hand 
and was almost crushing it. “God bless you, 
boy. It’s what I’ve been praying for a whole 
year. ’ ’ 

Next morning while Helen and Corine were 
down stairs at a late breakfast, Harry tapped at the 
door of Mr. and Mrs. Doner’s room, and was 
bidden enter. He found them both within, and, 
with his customary frankness, yet with consider- 
able hesitation and bashfulness, he told them sub- 
stantially what he had told his father the evening 
before. The story did not seem to be a new one 


268 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


to Mrs. Doner, but the deacon was much sur- 
prised. Substantially what they told him during 
the half hour he was with them can best be judged 
from his happy expression as he emerged from the 
room. 

In the afternoon Corine pleaded headache, and 
would not venture out on the long drive to the 
fort. So Helen and Harry set out alone. What 
Harry said on that drive I do not know. Neither 
do I know what Helen answered. Neither do I 
know how she looked when she returned, for she 
had her veil drawn over her eyes, and was heard 
to say, “This river air is so trying on one’s com- 
plexion.” 

But I do know that when she went up stairs and 
found her mother alone in her room, two women 
spent an hour in that room crying softly to them- 
selves and saying a few incoherent words occasion- 
ally. 

And I know that it took Harry an unpre- 
cedentedly long time to return the horse and phaeton 
to the stable, and when he came back to the hotel 
he went directly to the Doners’ room, and that 
evening when Helen appeared at the table it was 
noticed that she wore on her finger a circlet of gold 
that had never been seen there before. 

Corine sat next to Helen. As soon as oppor- 


A summer’s outing. 269 

tunity offered she leaned over and said, “Didn’t I 
tell you, Nellie? ” 

“Hush,” said Helen, and Corine laughed mis- 
chievously. 

But her laughter soon died away, and she grew 
very grave, and it was not long before she excused 
herself, saying that she did not feel well yet. And 
when she went up stairs, it was with her kerchief 
held to her eyes. 

One week more, and the Riverton party returned 
from their summer’s outing. 

Harry went at his work with new energy and a 
new purpose. His father had decided to stay in" 
America that fall and winter, and to divide his 
time between X. and Riverton. 

“It will seem entirely like home at Helen’s 
now,” he explained. 

“ We will certainly try to make it seem so to 
you,” said Helen sweetly ; which pleased the old 
man immensely. 

In August the Brenners came, having postponed 
their visit on account of an attack of sickness that 
had befallen one of the boys on his return from 
India. During their stay Harry was at Riverton 
often, and they all thought more and more of him 
every day. He was grandma’s especial favorite, 
and it was she who claimed the honor of having 


270 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


persuaded him to join St. Luke’s as a member, 
after having explained to him the difference 
between the confession of his church and that of 
her own, and shown him the Scripture proof of her 
faith. 

“He was not very hard to persuade, though,” 
grandma w^ould acknowledge, as she stood by his 
side and patted his arm. 

“ I don’t think anybody would be, after hearing 
a few of the sermons I have heard at St. Luke’s, 
and near St. Luke’s,” he answered, glancing at 
Helen. 

There was no English Lutheran church at X., 
so Harry’s name was entered at St. Luke’s as that 
of a non-resident member. 


CHAPTER XVIL 


“what god hath joined.” 

They had all been at the fishing grounds up the 
river one day, and now they were sitting on the 
veranda at the Doners\ resting and talking over 
the events of the trip. 

“EePs take a little walk, Nellie,” proposed 
Corine. “ We have been sitting around all day, 
and I feel all cramped up. I didn’t have half 
room enough in the surrey coming home.” 

“All right,” assented Helen. 

“All right,” chimed in Harry and Erwin. 

“No sir,” declared Corine. “We want to be 
alone.” 

“Good!” said the boys, and they resumed their 
seats on the steps. 

“I have something so funny to tell you, Nellie 
dear,” continued Corine, when they had reached 
the shadow of the nearest trees. 

“Well, what is it?” 

“ I hardly know where to begin, Nellie. It all 
seems so funny.” 


272 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Why don’t you just blurt it out, as you do 
everything else you have to say to me? ” 

“Because this is a little dififerent from the gen- 
eral run of my affairs, you see.” 

“Oh, is it a real, true, genuine love affair this 
time, or is it only one of those wonderful theories 
again, that are to revolutionize the whole economy 
of the social system, ameliorate the condition of 
earth’s millions of toilers, institute a true altruism, 
and go thundering down the ages as a startling 
witness of what one woman can do ? Did I have 
it correct that time, Corine ? I’ve heard you say 
it so often that I ought to know it by heart.” 

“Now, if you’re only going to make fun of me. 
I’ll go back to the porch and get Erwin to take 
this walk with me.” 

“No, don’t. I’ll promise to be good now, 
Corine, but don’t be so unconscionably slow in 
coming to the point this time. Harry wants us to 
go down town with him after a while, and eat 
some ice cream.” 

“Well, let me sit in the hammock, and you sit 
on that bench, and I’ll tell you all about it.” 

Helen did as she was commanded, and Corine 
lost herself in a train of wandering thought. 

“When is it coming?” Helen at length ven- 
tured to ask. 


273 


‘‘what god hath joined.” 

“Oh, you impatient and inartistic thing,” re- 
torted Corine. “I wanted to fix it all up in style 
and tell it to you with a grand flourish ; but if you 
are bound to drive all the poetry and romance out 
of it, here you are : John Perkins proposed to me 
to-day out at the fishing ground.” 

“And you laughed at him.” 

“No indeed, I did not. When a good, earnest 
Christian man like John Perkins proposes to a 
woman in as sensible and manly a way as he did 
to me, there is no talk about laughing.” 

“Well, what did you do? Don’t you see I am 
dying to know? ” 

“Well, Nellie, what could I do? I refused 
him.” 

“Why?” 

“ You know as well as I do.” 

“ Did he take your answer without any protest ?” 

“Only asked me whether it would be of any use 
to expect a different answer later.” 

“ What did you say then ?” 

“ I said it would be of no use whatever.” 

“Dook here, Corine Hereford,” said Helen al- 
most severely, “ don’t you love John any longer?” 

“More than I ever did before.” 

“Then I want to tell you that you are the most 
foolish girl on the face of the whole earth, and you 
i8 


274 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


ought to have a severe punishment for making 
yourself and John miserable when you both might 
be happy.” 

“How could we be happy, I wonder.” 

“By being sensible and getting married, of 
course.” 

“But what about my education and my pros- 
pects as a lawyer, and my plans as an agitator and 
emancipator of the sufferers among my fellow- 
beings on this poor old earth?” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! I know that you are making 
two people, and who knows how many more as a 
consequence, unhappy, and I am in extreme doubt 
as to your ability ever to benefit that many with 
your absurd theories. If this is what it is coming 
to, I am more thankful than ever that I did not 
get to go to college with you.” 

“You don’t understand these things, Nellie. 
You don’t give them fair consideration.” 

“Well, maybe you’ll know better some day. 
I’m sorry you told me about it. No, I’m not, 
either. Come, let’s go to the house.” 

“You’ll feel better about it in the morning, 
Nellie.” 

But Helen was provoked and would say 
nothing more; so they went to the house, and 
Corine soon took her departure. 


“what god hath joined.’’ 275 

Helen did not think different about it in the 
morning. On the contrary, the more she thought 
it over the more perplexed she became on the 
question of how Corine could care for John and 
know him to be a fine young man in every respect, 
and still refuse him on the ground that there were 
higher things for a woman to strive after than a 
happy married life. 

When John called that evening to say farewell 
to the Brenners, who intended to leave on the fol- 
lowing morning, she could not fail to notice the 
dejection which had taken possession of him. 
She saw that he tried with all his power to act his 
old self, but that made her pity him all the more. 
Once she was on the point of speaking to him 
about it, and she would have done so, had he 
given her the least opportunity. But he did not, 
so she said nothing. She thought that John 
ought to confide in her and come to her for conso- 
lation. She was sure he needed it sadly. Alas! 
How much lighter his burden might have become 
if he had only allowed her to share it with him. 

But so it always is. That beautiful injunction, 
“Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the 
law of Christ,” is complied with so seldom for this 
very reason. Those of us who would fain comply 
are timid about approaching the bearer in regard 


276 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


to his burden, and we who are struggling with the 
burdens are timid about approaching the strong in 
regard to their help. And so we toil on, some of 
us fainting by the wayside, and others falling ex- 
hausted at the goal, when we might all be journey- 
ing cheerfully onward, and not one burdened be- 
yond his strength. 

Then again Helen thought, “What can I say if 
John does mention the subject to me?” She 
would not dare to bid him hope that Corine would 
repent of her words; for, although she thought that 
it must eventually end in that way, still, some- 
how, Corine was a different girl now from the 
cousin who used to be so well understood by 
Helen, and on whose subsequent position on al- 
most any disputed question she had formerly been 
able to form so correct an opinion. 

She did detest, above all other things, the habit 
of trying to comfort people with assurances that 
all will be well, when one has no reason to sup- 
pose such assurances to be founded. She consid- 
ered that to be equivalent to telling falsehoods. 
“ It may be that it will turn out so, but as long as 
I have no reason for supposing that it will except 
my own wish, I have no right to tell people to rest 
assured that it will.’ ’ Thus this young philosopher 
would reason with herself. 


*‘WHAT GOD HATH JOINED.” 277 

Still, she did want John to say something. Even 
if she could not promise him anything definite for 
her erratic cousin, she could assure him of her own 
interest and sympathy and co-operation. Her sym- 
pathy would have been of the right kind, too. She 
was naturally of a sympathetic disposition, and her 
new happiness served to make her only more inter- 
ested in the sorrows and disappointments of others. 
With one of the most important events in life ap- 
proaching, she did not for a moment grow selfish, or 
inconsiderate, or forgetful of the troubles of others. 
But John remained silent, and her rich fund of 
good will and sympathy benefited him nothing. 

The wedding had been set for the coming Christ- 
mas. It seemed rather soon to Mrs. Doner and 
Helen. They had done their best in arguing for 
the following June. But Harry and his father both 
were so urgent that they could not be dissuaded. 
Mr. Chamberlain’s affairs positively demanded that 
he return to England not later than February, and 
it would be almost impossible for him to return 
again in June. Harry persisted that he needed 
Helen more than her folks at home did, and pointed 
them to his cheerless hotel life. 

“Besides,” said he, “we are both old enough, 
and we have been acquainted with each other 
a long enough time — over two years now.” 


278 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“What an age that is,’’ sighed Helen solemnly. 

“Well, two and a half years is a long time to 
wait,” said he. 

“Who’s been waiting that long, I wonder,” said 
Helen. 

“ I have,” quoth he. 

“Oh, just listen !” retorted she. “Why Harry, 
we have been engaged only two months, and by 
Christmas it will be only five.” 

“Yes, but haven’t I been waiting for you ever 
since two years ago last July? Didn’t I love you 
as soon as I laid eyes on you ? And didn’t you tell 
me the other day — .” But Helen had laid her 
dimpled hand on his mouth. 

“Now, Mr. Harry Chamberlain, if you talk any 
more such nonsense right here before all the rest of 
the folks, there will not be any marriage at all; so 
there.” And Harry was discreetly silent. 

But the argument was not yet ended, nor did 
there seem to be any prospect of a settlement. 
Mrs. Doner could not think of hastening Helen’s 
departure from home, and Helen would not look at 
it as Harry did. On the other hand, neither he 
nor his father showed any signs of weakening, and, 
where Helen and her mother had the advantage ot 
being women in an argument, Harry and his father 
had the advantage of sound logic on their side. 


“what god hath joined.” 


279 


As for Mr. Doner, he wisely refrained from tak- 
ing either side in the controversy. When Mrs. 
Doner was arguing how lonely she would be with- 
out Helen, his eyes would fill with tears, and he 
would wonder how he would endure it without that 
sweet presence in the house. When Harry would 
be depicting his cheerless life in the great city, he 
could not help thinking of the temptations that 
come to young men in cities, simply because they 
have no home, and no one to cheer and to counsel 
them. So he said nothing either pro or con. 

Neither did grandma say one word. 

One evening as they sat on the veranda discuss- 
ing the question in all its bearings once more, 
Helen playfully said: 

“Well, I wonder what you think about it all, 
grandma. There is no use in asking papa. Who 
is right, grandma, these hasty men or we hesitat- 
ing women ?” 

“ Do you really care for my opinion?” asked the 
old lady. 

“Yes indeed, grandma, I do.” 

“ Yes, yes, mother,” added Mrs. Doner. She was 
sure that grandma would agree with Helen and 
her, and, knowing that Harry thought so much of 
her, she thought this might be an unforeseen way 
to a speedy decision in her favor. To tell the truth, 


28 o 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


she wished some one else had the decision to make. 
She almost wished it could be taken from her by 
force. She simply could not persuade her heart to 
say ‘‘Yes,” and still she was far too intelligent not 
to see the force of Harry’s reasoning. So she wel- 
comed Helen’s appeal to grandma. “Yes indeed, 
mother,” she added, as she noticed that the old 
lady was hesitating to give her opinion, “we would 
prize your advice very highly. ’ ’ 

“Well,” said grandma slowly, “if I must say, I 
think Harry is perfectly right. I believe you feel 
it too, Emma. So why not let him have his way ? 
It is only a short six months before the time you 
and Helen prefer, at any rate. As much as I dis- 
like to see our Helen leave, my better judgment 
tells me it will be best so. And I say again, I 
think Harry has the best of the argument.” 

Mrs. Doner did not know what to say. She 
leaned her head on her hand a long while ; then 
she arose quietly, walked over to Harry, kissed 
him, and said : “Well, Harry, as far as I am con- 
cerned it shall be at Christmas.” 

And now they all looked at Helen. What would 
she do? 

“Why,” said she, “you all look at me as if I 
had something to say. It isn’t usual to ask the vic- 
tim at what time it wishes to be sacrificed, is it?” 


‘‘what god hath joined.” 281 

But her happy expression belied these mournful 
words. It was evident that she was glad the vexed 
question was settled. 

“I’m glad you look so happy about it, miss,” 
answered Harry. 

“Never you mind, mister,” was her retort. 
“Just wait till I leave you about two weeks after 
Christmas and come home to stay a few months 
with my mamma. You’ll wish then you hadn’t 
been so persistent.” 

“I’m not afraid,” he replied; and forthwith 
began an animated conversation on the details of 
the important event. 

The days and weeks that followed were as happy 
as they were busy. 

It is true, once in a while Helen’s mother would 
stop while occupied with some work, and wander 
off into a reverie ; and more than once sleep would 
not come when she laid her head down to rest at 
night, and often her pillow was wet with tears. 

It is true that the deacon had some unusually 
thoughtful moods, and at times the clerks at the 
office had to speak to him twice where once should 
have sufficed. 

It is true that Erwin and the other children had 
some very serious talks about “ When Helen goes 
away.’’ 


282 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


It is true that grandma made herself busier than 
ever, for fear melancholy reflections would come. 

It is true that Helen took a number of long 
walks all alone by herself. 

But with all that the days were full of happiness, 
and how swiftly they did fly ! It seemed no time 
at all, and the first of December was already with 
them. What with Christmas preparations and the 
wedding both at hand, the household was more 
alive than ever before in its history. But the great 
day had now arrived, and everything was in readi- 
ness. 

It was to be a home wedding. Not many guests 
had been asked. The aunts and uncles were all 
invited, but only Corine of the cousins ; the 
pastor’s family, the class of ’8i, R. H. S. : that was 
all. 

The marriage had been appointed at twelve 
o’clock, high noon. The deacon had sent a 
carriage to the church to bring the pastor and his 
family to the house immediately after the close of 
service. 

“We want things to move promptly,” he said. 
‘‘This thing of having delays and hitches in a 
programme of this sort I cannot bear.” It was 
evident that the good deacon was a bit nervous. 

The pastor reached the house in early enough 


“what god hath joinkd.” 283 

season to satisfy anybody, so Deacon Doner was at 
rest on that score. 

“Is everything else arranged?’’ he had asked 
Erwin a dozen times. 

“ Yes sir, everything is in ship-shape,” answered 
he proudly. He was acting as superintendent of 
the arrangements, and prided himself not a little on 
the honor. 

The piano had been hidden in a bower of sniilax 
in the back parlor. The wedding procession was 
to enter the front parlor from the hall. The cere- 
mony was to be performed in the center of that 
room under the chandelier, which had been grace- 
fully draped with English mistletoe that Mr. 
Chamberlain had commissioned George Brenner to 
send over. Both rooms were beautifully decorated 
with smilax and white and pink roses. An avenue 
of palms had been arranged where the bridal party 
was to enter. 

“We ought to have some holly,” Helen said, as 
the decorations were almost finished. 

“Holly won’t go with smilax and roses,” said 
Fannie Drew, who was to be bridesmaid, and was 
assisting in the preparations. 

“What shall we do?” queried Helen, perplexed. 
“ Harry’s father has had such a lot of nice boughs 
sent over, and I do hate to disappoint him.” 


284 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Well, lie’ll have to be disappointed for once,” 
said Corine. “I should think he would be satisfied 
with the mistletoe. We have given it the very best 
place — I did so want to have a wedding bell there.” 

“Why not decorate the dining-room with the 
holly?” suggested Fannie; and so it was decided. 

On the table they strewed roses and trailed smi- 
lax, but the walls were given up to the holly, and 
the effect was very pretty. 

The decorations were all finished. It was time to 
go up stairs to dress. 

“ Oh, how I do dread it ! ” exclaimed Helen, as 
they started up the stairway. 

“ You look more as if you had never wished for 
anything more heartily in your life than for twelve 
o’clock to-day,” rejoined Fannie. “Actually, 
Helen, I never saw you looking brighter and 
sweeter.” 

“Now, Fannie, you’re teasing me. Do I really 
look all right? ” 

“I’ll leave it to Corine, whether I am not telling 
the truth,” and they both turned to her. 

“That’s right,” was her comment, “I never 
knew Fannie to express a truer judgment than 
that. But let’s hurry and get her married before 
all this beauty vanishes and they went on and 
began to don the lovely dresses,— “ dreams,” 


‘‘what god hath joined.” 285 

Harry had called them. Krwiu was less poetical: 
‘ ‘ Rags, ’ ^ said that practical youngster. 

But now, there is no necessity for you and me to 
worry through all the anxious little details that 
filled the last moments. For us it is twelve 
o’clock, and the bridal procession is approaching. 

Milda Trapp is at the piano. The strains of the 
wedding march from Lohengrm ” are stealing on 
the air. 

John Perkins and Fannie Drew are ushering in 
the train. Then comes Corine, bearing Helen’s 
flowers. Then Helen and Harry. 

Never did bride look sweeter. She wore a gown 
of exquisite white silk, trimmed with real old lace, 
grandma’s gift. She had received it from her 
grandmother, who had brought it from across the 
sea. How dainty and rich it appeared, clinging to 
the fair form of the bride. About her throat Helen 
wore a strand of splendid pearls, each one a perfect 
treasure. Mr. Chamberlain himself had put them 
there. Harry’s mother had worn them when she 
was a bride. What could be more fitting than that 
they should adorn the beauty of our sweet Helen? 

Where find a groom worthy of this fair bride? 
Here he is at her side. For certainly, if Harry did 
not look every inch a king’s own son, my eyes are 
no judge of royalty. 


286 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


The pastor met them there, under the mistletoe. 
The service was simple and brief. Then there were 
congratulations, and good wishes, and some good 
advice, and happy smiles, and — yes, some tears, 
too ; precious, quiet tears of love that told Helen all 
that was in her mother’s heart. 

I wonder whether we bless God often enough for 
this precious gift of tears. What a solace they are, 
what a relief, what a way of expressing the heart’s 
inmost feelings! And to think that there are eyes 
whose chiefest boast is that they have never yielded 
tears 1 

But we are forgetting the dinner. There were no 
tears at that. It was a triumph in its way, and it 
was noticed that the disposal of it was a similar tri- 
umph, each and every guest a victor. There was 
no need of appetizers in the form of relishes and 
hot sauces. Harry’s inexhaustible fund of good 
spirits, leading off a like fund that seemed to be 
present in all the others, was appetizer enough. 
And, what can be said of few dinners of this sort, 
the meal was really enjoyed. 

The bride and the groom were to leave on the 
early evening train for the south, expecting to leave 

C the next morning for Florida. Harry had 

not been farther south than Touisville on his previ- 
ous trip, and he was curious to see the sunny south- 


“what god hath joined.” 287 

land. Helen would have preferred a trip through 
the northwest, but that was out of the question in 
the winter time, so she was perfectly delighted to 
take the southern trip. They left amid a shower of 
rice, and a perfect volley of old shoes fired under 
the direction of Erwin. The guests all stayed to 
spend the remainder of the evening at the Doners’. 

“I don’t like this thing of young people’s getting 
married and then popping away as though a cannon 
had been fired,” said the deacon. And when he 
found that nothing else would do but to let the 
young couple leave at once, he insisted that the 
others must stay. They were all glad enough to do 
so. 

All the members of the class of ’81 were present. 
None of them had yet deserted Riverton. They 
held an informal meeting in the library that even- 
ing and discussed old school days. Tom was again 
president. And such a time as they did have ! 

“After all,” said the irrepressible Fannie, “I 
don’t see why we should all begin to feel old just 
because Helen is married.” 

Wl;y she said this no one could imagine, for they 
were all acting more like children than like grown- 
ups. Corine called Fannie’s attention to this, 
whereat Jim Stevens saw a chance for one of his 
droll remarks. 


288 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“ I guess Fannie was thinking ahead a few months, 
of her own wedding, eh Tom?” And at that Tom 
grew somewhat disconcerted, and Fannie declared: 

“ Tom Green, you’re just as hateful as you ever 
were at school, so there ; and I think it’s real mean.” 

“Why, Fannie,” protested the innocent Tom, 
“ I didn’ t do anything. It was Jim there.” 

“ Yes, but you gave it all away by blushing and” 
— and seeing what a blunder she had made, and 
perceiving what a roar was greeting her, she covered 
her face with her hands and rushed to the parlor, 
where the older guests were assembled. 

This only made matters worse; for, when she had 
disappeared, they all besieged Tom, and he was 
finally compelled to tell them, “ Next June.” When 
Fannie came back they gave her a warm reception. 

Here we will leave them for a while, Harry and 
Helen speeding away to the south-land, the class of 
’8i in session as of old, and the deacon in the par- 
lor surrounded by his dearest friends. We can 
imagine that, when they separated late that Christ- 
mas night, it was with good wishes for the wedded 
pair, with warm esteem for their host, the (^acon, 
and undoubtedly with that which so naturally fills 
the heart when folks have spent pleasant hours of 
friendship with each other and the Ford at Christ- 
mas tide, good will toward all men. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


MRS. HELEN. 

Harry and his wife — how strange that sounded 
to them all for a while. They did not return to 
Riverton on their way north from Florida. They 
had spent the most delightful four weeks of their 
lives, up to that time, in the land of flowers. Then 
they went directly to their new home in X. 

Harry had proposed that they board for a time, 
but Helen had disposed of that idea summarily 
enough. It was against all her theories of life, and 
she insisted that they would have a regular home 
at the very outset, kitchen and all, and that she 
would be sole housekeeper. When Harry pro- 
tested that it would throw too much work on her 
shoulders at once, and that she ought to be free 
from any household cares for at least a year or two, 
she laughed at him and told him that she was sorry 
to disappoint him at the very beginning, but that 
that was not the kind of woman he had married. 
Harry, far from being disappointed, was happier 
than ever. He entered into the work of setting up 
19 (289) 


290 HKR PI.ACE ASSIGNED. 

the new household with as much interest as Helen 
herself showed. They had been abundantly re- 
membered with gifts by their numerous friends on 
the occasion of their marriage. It seemed to both 
of them that they had more friends than they had 
ever had any idea of. “And,” Harry remarked, 
laughing, “ ‘A friend in need is a friend indeed.’ ” 

“I guess we are not exactly in need, Harry,” 
was Helen’s comment. “ But it does seem as if 
we had enough gifts to set up a whole house- 
keeping establishment, doesn’t it?” But when 
they came to furnish the handsome two-story brick 

which they had rented on A Street, only half 

a block from W Avenue, they found that they 

needed a great many more things than they had. 

Then there were days and days of shopping to 
do, and a happy task it was, for they always went 
shopping together. Harry soon found that the old 
saying of a woman’s spending so much time shop- 
ping is not true when her husband supplies her 
with an adequate portion of money, and goes with 
her to share the burden of this most exacting and 
important task. 

The house was, in truth, a beautiful home after 
they had it completely furnished. 

“ I almost wish we weren’t fixed so fine, Harry,” 
said Helen, as they stood together, surveying the 


MRS. HEI.KN. 


291 

general effect after it was all finished. “ It makes 
me think of the hundreds of poor people who are 
not so well off as we are. But I believe we would 
be just as happy, even if we had only a little 
cottage, don’t you ? ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I know I would, if I had you with me in the 
cottage,” said he. “ But I don’t see how you could 
be happy having only a good-for-nothing like I am 
about.” 

“O hush, Harry. You know you are the best 
and truest and noblest man in all the world. Come, 
let’s go to supper now. And remember, after 
supper we must go and order some groceries and 
things ; for to-morrow. Mister Man, you will have 
to begin to subsist on your wife’s cooking.” 

“ Which will be a tremendous risk, seeing that I 
have subsisted on it many a day down at Deacon 
Doner’s in Riverton,” added he. 

The next day Helen’s housekeeping life began 
in real earnest. She cried a little as Harry put on 
his overcoat to go out to the factory and she 
thought of being left alone until noon. To tell 
the truth, the prospect did seem somewhat dreary. 
But after he had gone she bravely wiped away the 
tears, and planned a glorious dinner for him. Then 
she sat down before her dainty little writing-desk, 
which was a gift from Harry himself, and wrote a 


292 HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 

long letter to Corine. Then she set herself about 
preparing the noon meal, and, before she expected 
it, she heard Harry’s step on the porch. 

The first dinner was a complete success. Harry 
was so much pleased with it, and showed his pleas- 
ure so plainly, that Helen could not bear to make 
him sad by crying when he left again after dinner. 
He promised that he would be home early that 
afternoon so that they could go skating, as one of 
the men at the factory had told him that there was 
splendid ice on the river. 

“ You remember where we went boating last sum- 
mer, don’t you, Helen?” 

“Yes, and sailing too,” she answered, laughing. 

“ That’s the place,” he assented. “But we’ll try 
to have better luck with our first skate here than 
we had with our first sail.” 

“ All right. I’ll have an early supper ready when 
you get back.” 

How could she cry then ? Only a few tear-drops 
appeared and lingered in her eyes a while after he 

had jumped on the W Avenue street-car. And 

that was the last time that she “ acted the baby,” 
as she herself termed it. 

The next week Irma and Mr. Chamberlain came 
up to X., so there was plenty of company to keep 
her from getting lonely. When Mr. Chamberlain 


MRS. HKIvEN. 


293 


left, a week later, Irma still stayed. In May Mr. 
and Mrs. Doner came up for a stay of two weeks, 
taking Irma back home with them. As Helen and 
Harry intended going to Riverton early in June to 
attend Tom’s and Fannie’s marriage, expecting to 
stay over for the High School commencement, 
(Erwin was in the graduating class), there was a 
great deal to be done during the next few weeks by 
way of getting ready for the first visit home; so 
Helen did not suffer with a very prolonged spell of 
the “ blues ” after her folks left. 

She had by this time formed quite a list of 
acquaintances in X. also. As she was so much 
liked by every one, she and Harry were well sup- 
plied with invitations here and there and hither 
and thither. They were both great lovers of 
sociability, and frequently entertained their friends. 

The visit home that June was only the first of a 
series that was carried on regularly, three or four 
being made each year. Helen sometimes remarked 
that people would think she was sorry she had been 
married, as she came home so often, but concluded 
that it was nobody else’s affair if she chose to take 
advantage of the shortness of the distance that 
separated X. from Riverton, and keep in touch with 
her old home life. She was convinced that ber 
visits at home would not harm her. 


294 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


Helen’s folks visited her almost as often as slie 
visited them. Indeed, it was seldom that any 
length of time passed and none of her people were 
with her at X. And thus the days and weeks and 
months and years rolled happily onward. 

Helen did not weary of her housekeeping work. 
Of course she had her trials, as the rest of us do. 
The experiments she tried in the kitchen were not 
always successful. The dealers did not always tell 
her the truth about the wares she was examining 
to purchase. But these were trifling matters. 
They scarcely succeeded in rufiling her smooth 
brow into wrinkles, and as for her placid disposi- 
tion, they did not even dimple its surface. 

She gained much from being with Harry ; 
notably his habit of seeing' the humorous side of 
anything. If he fell on the street, he would pick 
himself up out of the snow and say, “ Well, some- 
body had a good laugh out of my tumble, at any 
rate.” If he lost a dollar on the street, he would 
contentedly remark, “Just think how happy some 
poor fellow will be when he finds that.” If Helen 
ruined a batch of cookery, he would say, ‘ ‘ O, 
well, that will help the poor storekeeper. We’ll 
have to buy something else instead, now.” 

“ I never saw such a man in all my life,” was 
Helen’s constant observation. Gradually she ac- 


MRS. HEI.KN. 


295 


quired the same habit, and, uniting as it did with 
her own sweet good nature, it served to make her 
only the more charming. 

Their home life was a religious one. There was 
a blessing invoked on every meal, whether they 
were alone or had guests to share their board. 
There was a devotional exercise every morning and 
every evening. They would read a chapter from 
God’s Bible, reading the verses alternately. After 
that Harry would offer a prayer. Then Helen 
would seat herself at her dear piano, which she had 
brought with her from home, and together they 
would sing a hymn. In the evenings they would 
sometimes spend a half hour or more singing the 
sweet sacred music whose presence makes so much 
for happiness in the Christian home. From the 
outset they had subscribed for several religious 
papers. These they perused faithfully, often read- 
ing to one another. They frequently sat on the 
porch in the evenings and drifted into long talks 
on questions of religion, sometimes discussions of 
scriptural doctrines, sometimes discussions of 
Christian duty and privileges ; sometimes speaking 
of God’s goodness to them, sometimes speaking of 
the happiness that God held in store for them in 
heaven. In these ways, with religion and piety, 
with mutual love and kindness, with faithful atten- 


296 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


tion to duty, with friendship and sociability, their 
married life was for them what married life can be 
for all pious, industrious, agreeable, Christian 
people, whether they be in moderate or in mill- 
ionaire circumstances, a life of continued real 
pleasure and happiness. 

One thing that troubled them was that there was 
no English church of their Eutherau faith in the 
city. Harry had called on a German minister and 
inquired whether his church had no English preach- 
ing, and had been informed that they had none 
whatever. Helen had hoped that perhaps they 
might find a church where they could hear a Lu- 
theran sermon in English at least occasionally. She 
was much disappointed when Harry returned with 
the intelligence that there was no accommodation 
at all for them. The pastors of several other de- 
nominations had called on them, and had been very 
polite and attentive, inviting them to worship with 
them and assuring them of a hearty welcome. But 
Helen said that she could never feel at home, 
except in her own dear Lutheran church. They 
therefore attended services in the nearest Episcopal 
church, retaining their membership at St. Luke’s 
in Riverton. They generally timed their visits to 
Helen’s home so that they could commune there. 

The fact that they had no church of their own 


MRS. HEI.KN. 


297 


faith at X. did not deter them from doing the work 
that every church member should do. Helen had 
soon discovered that there was much poverty and 
suffering in the great city. This was something 
she had never seen at Riverton; for, although 
there were families there who were poor, there 
were none that were reduced to actual want for 
life’s necessities, and very few who would allow 
themselves to be treated as objects of charity. The 
experiences at X. were, for this reason, entirely 
new to Helen. Still, for a nature like hers, it did 
not require long acquaintance with the new cir- 
cumstances to determine her in the course she 
should pursue over against those of the large city’s 
unfortunates that came within her reach. With 
Harry’s assistance and counsel she instituted quite 
a little system of charitable work. 

She soon learned that the so-called charity that 
was being carried on by the city through its Board 
of Poor Commissioners failed to attain the main 
object of all true charity, that of not only relieving 
the bodily distress of the sufferers, but of reach- 
ing their hearts also, and dispelling the discontent 
and unhappiness and distrust and hopelessness 
from these. 

She found so much suffering that her opportuni- 
ties exceeded her abilities, so she determined to 


298 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


make a bold effort. She asked a number of her 
acquaintances to meet at her home one afternoon. 
Among them were the wives of two of the pastors 
who had called on her and Harry. After they had 
all gathered, she explained to them her object in 
calling them together. She wanted them to take 
a hand with her in the work, selecting a certain 
district and resolving systematically to look after 
the poor and forsaken in that district, not exactly 
as church members, but as being neighbors to these 
unfortunate ones, and owing them sympathy and 
kindness. 

“Well, I’m willing to give my share,” said Mrs. 
Worth, the banker’s wife, as Helen finished speak- 
ing. 

“But, dear Mrs. Worth,” said she, “it isn’t 
mainly giving that we need. It is visiting these 
poor people, and showing them that we take a real 
personal interest in their well-being, that will do 
them more good than supplying them with money 
and clothing.” 

“But,” said her next door neighbor, “aren’t 
Poor Commissioners appointed by the city, and 
can’t these poor people see them and have a chat 
with them? I am sure our husbands pay high 
enough taxes to keep these different city depart- 
ments going.” 


MRS. HELEN. 


m 


“ I wish you would go down to the Poor Com- 
missioners’ office some day, Mrs. Taylor,” said 
Helen, “ and find out by seeing for yourself how 
much comfort there is to be gotten there by the 
poor creatures, some of whom are almost afraid to 
enter the doors. Besides, there are a great many 
who are ashamed to apply to the Poor Commission 
even for bodily aid. I would just like to hear what 
one of the Commissioners would say if one of the 
applicants would sit down and ask to have a little 
Christian consolation given him in his mis- 
fortunes.” 

“But, my dear Mrs. Chamberlain,” it was the 
portly Mrs. Duncan that said this, “ you are too en- 
thusiastic about this whole idea. Do you not know 
that the majority of the poor are undeserving 
wretches, who are either not so badly off as they 
pretend to be, or else responsible themselves for the 
condition in which you find them ?” 

“And then,” put in Mrs. Weller, “ you know there 
are the churches. We have an alms-box in the ves- 
tibule at our dear St. Stephen’s, and I, for my part, 
drop a dime in regularly on the first Sunday of 
every month.” 

Helen argued the question with them until she 
saw that it was a hopeless case, and then, although 
there were tears in her heart, she fought them 


300 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


bravely down, and adroitly changed the topic of con- 
versation in a gradual manner, so that, when the 
ladies left, they had all forgotten what a disagree- 
able subject had been up for discussion. 

Mrs. Storm, whose husband. Dr. Storm, was 
rector of St. Stephen’s, remained after the others 
had gone, and sympathized cordially with Helen in 
her disappointment. 

“I have tried the same thing myself, my dear 
child,” she said in a motherly way that Helen 
loved in her, “ and with exactly the same results. 
I had hoped that you would have more success, be- 
cause the ladies all like you so much.” 

She and Helen agreed that they would do what 
they could together. 

‘‘ Two are better than one at any rate,” smiled 
Helen, as she opened the door for her friend to pass 
out. “We will go out to the west end to-morrow, 
Mrs. Storm, and I will introduce you to some of 
the poor people whom I have been visiting.” 

“And some other day I will do the same for 
you ;” and the kind woman went. 

Harry just then arrived, and he fairly boiled with 
indignation at the heartlessness of the women 
whom Helen had endeavored to interest in her 
project. But when Helen rehearsed Mrs. Weller’s 
speech for him, he burst out in a hearty laugh, 


MRS. HELEN. 301 

and soon he had Helen all smiles again, and in 
some measure consoled for her lack of success. 

“After all,” she concluded, as she cleared away 
the tea things and began to get herself ready for 
the concert they were to attend that evening, 
“ Mrs. Storm and I can get more done than that 
promiscuous crowd could have accomplished. I 
suppose it was a mistake to try to get them to- 
gether;” and she enjoyed the concert that evening 
as thoroughly as if nothing unpleasant had oc- 
curred. 

She and Mrs. Storm succeeded in accomplishing 
quite a work of rescue and relief ; but Helen and 
Harry soon became interested in another venture, 
which bade fair to engage all of their available time 
and energy. 

The district where Helen had found so many 
poor people, some of them not in extreme want of 
this w^orld’s goods, but all of them sadly craving 
attention from those who were better placed in the 
scale of social advantage than they themselves, had 
no church. A mission had been attempted a few 
years before, but it had been abandoned because 
sufficient interest in the work had not been taken 
by the people to warrant the outlay necessary for 
carrying it on successfully. Helen proposed that 
she and Harry begin a Sunday-school out there. 


302 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“It will require a very slight outlay on our part,” 
she explained. “We can rent one of the empty 
cottages for little money, and a little planning will 
go a good way toward making it attractive. The 
main thing will be the work we apply to it our- 
selves, and that we can give cheerfully. ” 

It did not take any urging to secure Harry’s co- 
operation in this plan. Soon St. Ivuke’s Sunday- 
school had been begun, but not before Helen had 
written to Pastor Denton, asking his advice. He 
not only fully approved of the idea, but gave 
the young missionaries some practical advice as to 
how the work could be conducted with the great- 
est assurance of success. He also sent them some 
charts and books, and a catalogue of Sunday-school 
supplies. 

It was up-hill work at the first, but from the be- 
ginning there were half a dozen families who stood 
faithfully by Helen, families whom she had assisted 
and visited in their troubles. As the Sunday-school 
began to impress the dwellers of the west end with its 
intention of staying whether they wanted it to stay or 
not, they began to gain a respect for it that induced 
them to “drop in” one by one to see what was 
being done there. No one who attended once could 
resist the friendly invitation to come again, and 
those who came two or three times were won for the 


MRS. HELKN. 


303 


school. So St. Ivuke’s of the west end in X. slowly 
prospered, until the roll counted one hundred and 
over fifty names of regular attendants. This prog- 
ress covered a period of several years, however, and 
represented much faithful work and much earnest 
prayer and much wise planning. 

Pastor Denton was in regular receipt of reports 
from Helen. One day he wrote : “ I shall prob- 

ably soon have a surprise for you. I will not say 
much at this writing, but will only hint that 
possibly St. Duke’s mission Sunday-school at X. 
may be the forerunner of St. Luke’s English Lu- 
theran church at X., State of ”. 

“I wonder what he means,” said Helen, as they 
perused the pastor’s letter. 

“ Well, he evidently means that it is within the 
range of possibility that we will have an English 
Lutheran congregation here in the near future,” 
answered Harry. “Wouldn’t that be fine?” 

“ Yes, but how is it to be?” asked she. 

“ I don’t see either,” returned he. “ But I know 
this, that the Reverend Denton doesn’t often in- 
dulge in dreams.” 

They were not left in ignorance long. Three 
days later the mail brought them a letter that gave 
them a full explanation, and, in consequence of the 
explanation, great joy. 


304 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


The case was this. Of course Helen and Harry 
had not been alone in caring for the Sunday-school 
after it had grown to larger proportions. There 
were times when Helen’s home duties required long 
absences on her part from the work in the west 
end. As interested as she was in that work, she 
had never lost sight of the principle that her home 
work demanded and deserved her first attention. 
So it was with Harry. Sometimes he was absent 
from the city as long as three weeks in succession, 
looking after the interests of his business. He saw 
very clearly that it would not do for him to suppose 
that it would take care of itself while he was mis- 
sionating in the west end. Besides, he correctly 
reasoned that if he allowed his business to fail he 
might be compelled to leave the city entirely ; and 
what would have become of St. lyuke’s mission 
school then? And so, as deeply as they both were 
concerned for the welfare of the school, they at- 
tended to their nearer duties first. 

It was fortunate, under these circumstances, that 
they were not alone in managing the school. By 
the time it had increased to so large proportions that 
the cottage was too small and they were compelled 
to lease a store-room that happened to be vacant, 
they had met other English Lutheran people in X. 
who were in the same predicament as that in 


MRS. HELEN. 


305 


which they themselves were, without a church 
home of their own. These they had readily suc- 
ceeded in interesting in the work ; and, although 
they were still looked up to as the leaders, they 
had an able corps of assistants, and the work did 
not materially suffer when they were obliged to be 
absent. 

Pastor Denton had taken account of all these 
things, and now he wrote to them that he had for 
some time been corresponding with the secretary 
of the Board of Missions, and they had now decided 
to send a man to X. to look over the field, and, if 
it proved as auspicious as the reports seemed to in- 
dicate, they would locate a pastor there as a per- 
manent missionary. 

This was joyful news indeed to the Chamber- 
lains. All the more joyful was the occasion when 
the president of the Board himself arrived, and, on 
looking over the work that had been accomplished, 
and attending the school on the following Sunday, 
expressed himself as astonished at the resufls of 
their work, and assured them that he would pledge 
himself to do all in his power that a man be located 
there at an early day. This was in the fall, four 
years almost after our young friends had been 
married. 

In this time some other events had taken place, 


20 


3o6 her peace assigned. 

which I must not fail to mention. I have been so 
much interested in the growth of the Sunday-school 
that I did not think of them at the time. When 
the Reverend Doctor R., the president of the Board 
of Missions, came into the house with Harry, who 
had met him at the station, and had shaken hands 
with Helen, whom he had met before, having lodged 
at her father’s house in Riverton several times while 
she was still at home, he stooped down to a little 
toddler who had come forward and now stood survey- 
ing him critically, and said: 

“Well, and who is this?” 

“I’s Face Toreen Samberlin,” was the answer. 

“Ah yes,” continued the kind old man, “and 
how old are you?” 

“Two years old,” the toddler replied. 

“And have you a kiss for me?” he asked. 

“No sir; tisses all for mamma an’ papa.” 
Whereat little Faith Corine ran over to her papa, 
and was soon perched up high in his proud arms. 

“ What a bright little one she is,” said Doctor R., 
admiring her. “And how old is the baby?” turn- 
ing to the little dimpled bunch that Helen was 
holding in her lap. 

“ Baby was three months old yesterday,” answered 
Helen. “Don’t you think she is large for her 
age?” 


MRS. HELKN. 


307 


“ Yes indeed,” said the Reverend Doctor. “ What 
a pleasant home you have,” he added, looking about 
the room. ‘‘ I suppose you feel content with your 
new life. Miss Do — , excuse me, Mrs. Chamberlain?” 

‘‘Oyes, sir, indeed,” replied Helen. “I would 
not want to be without my husband and this little 
Mischief and Baby and my home, for any thing in 
all the world beside.” 

The tea bell was rung, and they went out to a 
dainty supper, where we will not disturb them. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


CORINE. 

The promised pastor did not reach X. until the 
following spring. A number of men had suc- 
cessively been called, but each one had failed to 
see his way clear to accepting the call. The 
Board might have cut matters short by being less 
particular, but they recognized the importance of 
the field and the value of the work that had 
already been done, so they were determined to 
secure the ministry of a capable man. 

They were finally successful, and great was the 
excitement within the little circle of Sunday- 
school workers when they heard that the Reverend 

P had accepted the call, and would be with them 

in May to look over the ground and to see about 
securing a suitable dwelling for his family. He 
had now come, had made a splendid impression, and 
had gone again, in order to take leave of his former 
congregation and to bring his family and his house- 
hold effects to X. He had been the guest of the 
Chamberlains and had just said “good bye.” Still 


CORINE. 309 

Helen is bustling around just as if her visitor had 
not gone. 

The reason for this is that she is expecting com- 
pany on the next day. Her guests are to be — 
Harry’s father, and Corine. She and Harry had not 
seen Mr. Chamberlain since he had been with them 
over four years before, just after they had settled in 
their new home. Neither he nor they had had the 
least idea at that time that it would be so long a 
while until they saw each other again. Mr. 
Chamberlain had intended to be absent two years 
at the longest. When the two years were up and he 
should have started to America, he suddenly decided 
to wind up all his affairs, dispose of his business, 
and come over and settle down with Helen and 
Harry for the remainder of his life. His own home 
and his own country were very dear to him ; but 
Harry and Helen and the little girl whom he had 
never seen were still dearer to his affectionate old 
heart. Why should he stay over there all alone, 
leading a solitary, cheerless life, when he might be 
passing his old days in the sunny brightness and 
warmth of his children’s love? 

He had delayed coming to this decision, as he 
still entertained hopes that Harry would perhaps 
return to England with his family. Now all ex- 
pectations of an occurrence of that kind had van- 


310 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


ished from his mind, and he decided to take the step 
that meant so much to him in every way. He had 
hoped to get his affairs settled in a short time ; but 
unforeseen complications had arisen, and he was not 
free to leave until the fall preceding the fourth an- 
niversary of the marriage. By that time the season 
was so far advanced that he dreaded making the 
voyage alone. He had therefore reluctantly de- 
cided to wait until the spring, and now Helen and 
Harry were expecting him on the morrow. 

Corine was coming, too. Helen had not seen her 
for more than two years. She had remained in 
Riverton some time after Helen’s marriage, and 
during that time Helen had seen her often, although 
Corine had never yet been Helen’s guest in her 
home at X. Later she had gone to spend a winter 
with her Aunt Carrie, who had married a wealthy 
New York lawyer and was now a society woman in 
the great metropolis, Corine’s intention being to 
read law in her uncle’s office. She did this quite 
faithfully, though she was, in addition, thoroughly 
introduced to “ society ” that winter. Her brilliant 
reception pleased her aristocratic aunt so well that 
she decided to keep her for the summer, and take 
her along to Newport. Then, without asking any 
questions of Mrs. Hereford, she imperiously dictated 
that Corine must spend another winter with her. 


CORINE. 


31I 

Mrs. Hereford was disposed to yield quite readily, 
since she imagined that Corine was being vastly 
benefited by her association with the country’s 
“best” people. As for Corine, she was in her 
element. The work in her uncle’s office was pre- 
cisely what she wanted. Besides, the people of 
her aunt’s “set” were just then all enraptured 
with the reform fad. Reform clubs and societies 
and associations were “the rage.” Corine, who 
with her acknowledged ability and her well-de- 
veloped notions on the reform subject was hailed 
as a veritable treasure, was soon installed as secre- 
tary of two of these societies. She took an active 
part in the work itself, delivering addresses, not 
only at the meetings of the society, but also at 
public gatherings called for the purpose of reach- 
ing the “masses.” She became quite a figure in 
the work, and was more than once spoken of in the 
daily papers as having made a “remarkable” or a 
“startling” address at such-and-such a hall to 
such-and-such a meeting. 

While she was finally making her preparations 
to leave New York for her home at Riverton, she 
had received an urgent invitation to address a 
monster mass-meeting at X. The girls employed 
in the pearl-button factories at that place had been 
induced by the labor unions to go out on a strike. 


312 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


and they were suffering severely as a consequence. 
It had been decided to have this monster meeting, 
conducted under the auspices of the labor unions, 
for the girls’ benefit, the object being to raise funds 
for the successful continuance of the strike, and at 
the same time to create a public sentiment in sym- 
pathy with the striking girls. One of the labor 
leaders of New York, who had been called to X. to 
assist in the management of the strike, had recom- 
mended Corine to the committee, and they had 
secured her services as the main attraction. This 
was the occasion of Corine’s first visit to Helen 
in her X. home. 

Corine well knew that Helen did not at all ap- 
prove of the course she had taken. The most of 
her other friends were full of admiration for her 
energy and determination, and spoke highly of her 
success. While Helen acknowledged that she had 
in truth shown great perseverance and ability, still 
she could not but regard her successes as failures. 
It made no noticeable difference in their friendship 
for each other, for she thought as much of her 
cousin as ever. But it would have pleased her 
more than she could tell if Corine would only 
look at the problem of her life from a more 
sensible standpoint. So, while she heartily disap- 
proved of Corine’s speaking at the mass meeting 


CORINE. 313 

in the Auditorium, she welcomed her gladly as her 
guest. 

Both Harry’s father and Corine arrived on 
schedule time, and such a greeting as they both 
received ! Faith Corine was willing to go to her 
grandpa at once without any further introduction 
than his invitation, and from that moment they were 
inseparable comrades. She would leave anyone 
else, even her mother, to go to him. As for him, he 
would have done almost anything, within reason or 
without, for the little elf. He said it was worth the 
whole trip from England to hold her on his lap five 
minutes, and stroke her sunny curls. To Helen’s 
delight, he insisted that she looked exactly like her. 

Corine did not fare so well at Faith’s hands. 
She had set much store by meeting her little 
namesake, and was chagrined exceedingly when 
she found that the little one would have nothing 
to do with her. Indeed, Faith’s distrust of Corine 
was as marked as was her perfect confidence in her 
grandpapa. It pained Corine deeply, but there was 
no remedy for her pain, as Faith would listen to no 
entreaties; and when she went to Corine at her 
mother’s express command, it was so perfunctorily 
and reluctantly done that Corine preferred not to 
have her come at all. She solaced herself by hold- 
ing the baby, which was not so critical. Strange 


314 her place assigned. 

to say, with all her undomestic notions, Corine was 
passionately fond of children. 

Corine and Helen did not find opportunity for a 
good old-time chat with each other until the chil- 
dren had been taken to bed that evening and they 
had repaired to Corine’s chamber, where her trunk 
had just been put by the expressman. They went 
there for the ostensible purpose of unpacking it, 
but who ever heard of two girls’ getting a trunk 
unpacked together when they had not seen each 
other for two whole years and more ? Their con- 
versation will undoubtedly be genuinely interesting, 
too. As they have no objections, you and I will 
sit down in the adjoining room to watch the babies 
and — listen to the babies’ mamma and auntie, 

‘‘How long were you in Riverton, Corine?” 
Helen is asking. 

“Oh, only just long enough to say ‘How do?’ 
and ‘Good bye !’ But I was there long enough to 
notice a few wonderful changes, at any rate.” 

“ I guess I do not notice them so much. I am 
never gone long enough at one time.” 

‘‘Well, that’s true. A person doesn’t notice 
changes so much when they go on right under her 
attention. I was so surprised, when mamma and I 
were driving from the station, to meet a big van, 
and more surprised still to read on the side in large 


CORINE. 


315 


letters, ‘Perkins Bros.’ Cartage and Drayage Co.’ 
Of course mamma had written to me that the two 
new railroads had come to Riverton, and that the 
population had more than doubled when the big 
railroad shops were built and the implement works 
were located there ; but a person doesn’t get much 
idea of a thing of that kind unless she sees it with 
her own eyes. To think of our little Riverton, 
boasting of over seventeen thousand inhabitants.” 

“Yes, it does seem strange. Hadn’t anybody 
written you about John’s new venture? You know 
he is still keeping up his delivery, running three 
wagons on that alone. And since he has started 
the cartage business he has about trebled his work. 
There is a great deal of transferring between the 
three depots, and it seems John gets it all. At any 
rate he has three large wagons busy continually 
besides his delivery wagons. Of course he does 
moving and all kinds of trucking, too. He told 
me a few weeks ago when he was here, that he 
himself does not load and drive now ; just super- 
intends the business, and keeps the books and 
looks up trade. And you hadn’t heard about all 
this, and he the person you are the most interested 
in of any in the whole wide world ?” Helen was 
smiling provokingly. As she looked at Corine she 
saw that her cousin was really blushing. 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


316 

“Well, it’s queer that John did not tell me,” she 
said, only half aloud. But Helen caught the 
words. 

“John tell you ? How could he tell you ? Where 
did you see him, I wonder. And when?” 

Corine had thoughtlessly betrayed her own 
secret. But she would try to hide it again. 

“Nevermind about that, Nellie. I’ll tell you 
about that after a while. I want to talk about 
Riverton now. Is there any more about John, that 
you know?” 

“Yes, there is. Do you remember where Fannie 
Drew’s father built that fine new house?” 

“Why, of course I do. But what has that to do 
with John Perkins?” 

“Only this. He has bought the corner lot, next 
to the Drews’, and has built a house that beats 
theirs all to pieces.” 

Corine drew a long breath. 

“It’s awfully queer how nobody has ever told 
me a word about this. But do you know, 
mamma never would talk about him with me. 
She must have been afraid that I would take too 
much of an interest in him. Why didn’t you 
write me about it, Nellie?” 

“Well, I suppose I thought your mother kept 
you informed on the Riverton doings, and you 


CORINE. 


317 


know we always had enough other things to write 
about. Besides, didn’t I say something about your 
presiding over the Perkins mansion as its proud 
mistress, in a letter a few months ago ?’ ’ 

“Yes, but I thought you were only teasing me 
and making fun of that little frame house where 
John’s folks lived. I suppose there is a lot more 
about him ?’ ’ 

“The only other thing that I can think of now 
is that he was elected councilman last month, at 
the spring election, you know.” 

“Well, well. But that’s enough about John. 
He’s getting so high up we will not dare to think 
of him any more. How did we begin talking 
about him?” 

“Don’t you know? You spoke about having 
seen one of his vans.” 

“O yes, and that reminds me. We had not 
driven more than a block farther when we saw a 
smart little trap come rolling along, and there sat 
Tom Green and Fannie, and Fannie holding a 
little boy. I couldn’t resist the temptation, so we 
stopped them right then and there. She says the 
little fellow is seventeen months old already. 
Fannie and Tom seem to get along as peacefully 
as you please. Who would ever have thought it, 
after seeing the way they always quarreled?” 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


318 

“Yes, I’ve visited there. I was with them two 
days last summer, and I know they are perfectly 
devoted to each other. ’ ’ 

“Are any of the others married, besides Ada 
Lansen and Jim Stevens?” 

“ Why, yes. You surely know that Posey 
Berner was married last month. Didn’t you re- 
ceive an invitation?” 

“O yes, I had forgotten about that. Who is this 
Smith that she married ?’ ’ 

“ He is a traveling man from Chicago. He 
seems to be an excellent man, from all I can hear. 
He is the son of an old school friend of Mr. 
Berner.” 

“And whom did Jim Stevens catch?” 

“Jim Stevens? Why, his wife is a very nice 
little body. Her parents live here in X., but I 
have never made their acquaintance. Did any one 
tell you of the June weddings that are coming?” 

“ No, whose?” 

“ Mary’s and Milda’s. Mary is to be married to 
one of Ada Lansen’s brothers, and Milda’s beau is 
a young German minister from somewhere in 
Pennsylvania.” 

“ I always forget who Ada’s husband is.” 

“Why, don’t you remember, the summer we 
spent in England she came up here to X. with 


CORINE. 


319 


Mary Charman? She met him here that summer. 
He is a newspaper man of some sort, and they are 
living somewhere in the West.” 

“Well, I suppose they’ll all be married by and 
by, and I’ll be the only sensible one left.” 

“ The only deluded one, you should say, Corine. 
But, if you’re done with the rest now, I want you 
to tell me about yourself and John. What is it?” 

“ Pshaw ! I thought you would have forgotten 
about that by this time.” 

“You didn’t think any such thing, and what’s 
more, you are just dying to tell me.” 

“Nellie Chamberlain, you know that isn’t so, 
and to punish you I am just exactly going to make 
you wait for it till to-morrow morning.” 

“You’ll not get any rest all night then, for I’ll 
not stir a step out of this room until you do tell 
me, Corine Hereford, and you might as well bow 
to the inevitable now as later.” 

“I declare, you’re the same stubborn girl you 
used to be, Nellie. I should think your husband 
would have got you broken of that by this time.” 

“Now, Corine, let’s lay all jokes aside, as Erwin 
says ; and tell me all about it.” 

“Well, Nellie, it was like this. I was walking 
along Broadway in New York one day in March, 
when whom should I see coming out of a store but 


320 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


John Perkins? I never was so astonished in my 
life. He saw me as soon as I saw him, and he 
came up as nice as yon please and shook hands 
with me. I asked him to what kind Providence I 
owed the pleasure of seeing him there, and he ex- 
plained to me that it was in connection with the 
express robbery near Riverton. You heard about 
that, didn’t you?” 

“Yes, of course. Go on.” 

“Well, it seems John happened to overhear a 
conversation between the station agent and one of 
the express messengers on the night of the rob- 
bery, and this conversation had distinct bearing on 
the robbery. You know they suspected the agent 
and some of the messengers. I heard on my way 
up here that the probability is that they will be 
convicted. The directors of the company were 
having a meeting in New York when the detectives 
telegraphed them about this conversation, and they 
at once wired that they would like to have John 
come to New York and relate the circumstances 
there in detail. As he was in one sense an em- 
ploy6 of the company (I see how he meant that 
now), he thought best to go. After he had finished 
his business with the railroad magnates he decided 
to spend some time sight-seeing, and that is how I 
came to run across him. His trip to New York 


CORINE. 


321 


was to be kept a secret, though now that these 
men are convicted I guess there is no harm in tell- 
ing it. You can’t imagine how glad I was to see 
him, for to tell you the truth, Nellie, I was getting 
rather tired of the everlasting receptions, and cir- 
cles, and meetings, and all the rest of it. Very few 
of the young men ever ventured to ask my company 
anywhere, as I was accounted a strict reformer, 
without any ideas except such as were connected 
with the great work of helping the masses and lift- 
ing the down-trodden. Of course, John knew me 
better than that. He prolonged his stay a week 
beyond the limit of his original intentions, and he 
and I had an elegant time. We went everywhere. 
It was the most fun, dodging my acquaintances, 
lest they should discover that I was just a plain 
human being after all. I was awfully nice to John, 
and he seemed to enjoy himself as much as I did 
myself. Auntie thought he was just fine. I tell 
you, Nellie, he has improved wonderfully. Not 
that he needed improvement exactly, but he has 
acquired such a distinguished manly air, a good 
deal like Harry’s. The only thing that vexed 
auntie was that he kept himself so strictly out of 
reach of her ‘set’ She did succeed in inveigling 
him into an ‘evening’ once, and he was completely 
‘lionized.’ Would you believe it, Nellie? He 


21 


322 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


took it all as though he moved in court circles 
every day of his life. He’s a born lord, sure.” 

“And in all that time he didn’t say anything 
about his new transfer business? ” 

“ Not a word. Only that he did a little hauling 
now and then for the railroad company. Think 
of it ! A genuine lord talking about his doing 
hauling for a railroad company. He wouldn’t 
have told me that if I had not caught him up when 
he talked about his being an employd of the 
company.” 

“Well, what else?” 

“Who said there was anything else?” 

“I know there is, and I want to know what it 
is.” 

“Well, I told you how sweet I was to him. I 
guess I overdid it a little, for he seemed to take it 
as encouragement, and the evening before we left, 
as we were taking a farewell walk in Central Park, 
he asked me whether I couldn’t change my mind 
about the answer I had given him out at the fish- 
ing grounds about four years ago. I was almost 
sorry when I had to tell him ‘No’ again. But I 
explained to him that the life I had mapped out 
for myself was only just beginning in its reality; 
that what I had done so far had been merely prepara- 
tory work, and that, if he could only see what a 


CORINE. 


323 


great good I had begun to accomplish, he would 
not think me harsh in refusing to reconsider my 
first decision. He said nothing more on that 
subject, and treated me just the same as before. I 
pitied him, but to this moment I do not know 
whether he cared for my pity or not.’’ 

“Is that all?” 

“ Yes, that is all. He left New York the next 
day, and I have not seen him since.” 

“And he didn’t tell you a word about their new 
house, either?” 

“Not a syllable. I wonder why he kept so quiet 
about that? But to tell the truth, we did not say 
much about any Riverton affairs. Queer, isn’t it ? 
He might have known that I would be interested 
at least in his affairs.” 

“I’ll tell you what, Corine. The reason why he 
didn’t tell you is this. You see he had made up 
his mind to ask you that question again, and he 
didn’t want it to seem as though he had told you 
those things as an inducement to accept him. 
I want to tell you something. John is here in 
town now. Harry saw him this morning at the 
bank. He has business that will keep him here 
two or three days, but he says that his main object 
in coming just at this time is to hear you speak.” 

“Nellie, you’re only joking, aren’t you?” 


324 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“ No, indeed I am not.” 

The conversation must have grown absorbingly 
interesting, for we cannot distinguish a single word, 
only the hum of their voices for several hours. 
Then suddenly Helen said : 

‘‘I^isten, the baby is crying. And O dear, just 
look at the time! It’s after eleven. Good night, 
Corine. Shall we wake you in the morning?” 

“Yes, call me early. I am an early riser when 
I have work on hand.” 

Corine kept herself in her own room most of the 
next day, coming down only to meals. She knew 
that the address that evening must be her supreme 
effort, and she resolved to spare no pains that 
would be necessary to make it an entire success. 
After dinner a committee from the unions called to 
give her some details about the local situation. 
They were gentlemanly men, and they made a 
good impression on Helen, who had met them at 
the door. She had had an idea that all persons in 
any way connected with a strike must be rough 
and disorderly, and had dreaded their visit. She 
was very glad to find herself mistaken about them. 

After they had left, a committee of ladies came 
in a carriage to take Corine down to see the hall 
where she was to speak. And so the day wore 
away, and the momentous hour drew nearer. 


CORINE. 


325 


At last it had come. 

A close carriage drew up to the door. It con- 
tained the two women of the escort committee. 
They had come to take Corine to the scene of her 
great — would it be triumph or failure? 

Helen and Harry and Mr. Chamberlain went 
down on the car. They, had been provided by 
Corine with reserved-seat coupons, otherwise they 
would not have found even standing room. 

The Auditorium was a vast hall, capable of seat- 
ing at least five or six thousand persons. Tem- 
porary galleries had been erected, making room for 
a thousand more. Every available seat was occu- 
pied. The aisles were one tangle of standing, 
crowding forms. 

On the platform, next to the presiding officer, 
and surrounded by some fifty vice-presidents, sat 
Corine, seemingly perfectly at home and at her 
ease in those trying moments. Her eye sparkled 
like that of a child anticipating a great pleasure. 
She moved a fan to and fro, as unconcerned as if 
she were sitting with Helen alone in her parlor. 
When the time came for her to address that great 
army of people, and the president had introduced 
her with a flattering eulogy, she arose with a 
strength and a self-control that was nothing short 
of remarkable. 


326 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

Then came her address. The effect was tremen- 
dous, past describing. The first sentences she 
spoke, calm and collected, logical and assertive, 
caused a mighty hush to fall on all the audience. 
Some fifteen minutes she continued in this calm, 
logical strain. The subject matter was intensely 
interesting, diversified with figures and statistics, 
brightened with examples and illustrations. The 
language was perfect in its diction, clean-cut in its 
precision, heroic in its power. 

She spoke of all men’s equality. Then of the 
injustice that was meted out to many, thrust 
down from the plane of equality with others by 
oppression and violence. Then especially of 
w'oman’s exile from her divine inheritance, the 
Canaan into which God had led her by creating 
her as man’s equal. Then she pictured the lot of 
the striking girls, who had been struggling so 
bravely with a cruel world for life and for right. 
Turning to them, she gave them counsel and ex- 
plained an original and ingenious plan of solution 
for all their difficulties. She proceeded to herald 
the dawn of a day when oppressions and wrongs, 
boycotts and strikes, would be unknown, when 
employer and employed would all together stand 
on the common ground that belonged to all by 
reason of their equal birth. 


CORINE. 


327 


Her voice — it was this that astonished Helen most 
— seemed to have a momentum, a carrying power, 
that bore it to the farthest corner of that mighty 
space, yes, and that bore it down, deep down, into 
the hearts of those present with convincing 
penetration. 

Then she seemed to rise. Her eloquence flashed 
fierier. Her sentences were shorter, terser, tenser. 
They seemed impassioned with an earnestness that 
was spell-binding. I^ightnings flamed from her 
eyes, and again the fearful glow of furnace fires. 
The effect was striking. She seemed to increase 
in stature, to stand above earth with its woes and 
its wrongs, its shrieks and its moans, its sufferings 
and its dyings. On, up, into the far distance she 
seemed to mount, and with her, enchained in 
admiration, arose that countless mass of human 
souls. Upward they went, from the valleys to the 
mountain tops, from mountain peaks into the 
clouds, from the clouds to the stars, from stars and 
planets and suns into the boundless, unfathomable, 
illimitable, infinite Beyond. 

Then, with an abruptness that was startling, she 
swept the hall with a queenly bow, and sat down 
with the dignity of an empress ascending her 
throne in state. 

It was some seconds ere the audience recovered 


328 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


from the spell which had been bound upon them. 
Then cheer on cheer rolled through the house like 
huge billows swelling shoreward. 

The scene grew sensational. Men stood on 
chairs, waving every conceivable article they could 
lay hands on. Then they climbed on each others’ 
shoulders. Women were scarcely less demonstra- 
tive than men. Flowers were showered on the 
stage in one great deluge. A few persons tore their 
jewels from them and cast them at Corine’s feet. 
She had had her triumph. Had it been a man that 
had spoken, they would have borne him on their 
shoulders out of the hall, to Washington if need 
were, to make him absolute monarch of the land, 
king, emperor, dictator, whatever he listed. 

The managing committee feared that harm 
might befall their speaker, and made hurried prep- 
arations to escort her from the hall to her 
carriage. The crowd divined their purpose and 
began to struggle out through a score of exits. 
They surged about the vehicle, eager to catch 
another glimpse of her whose mind had bound 
them in that wondrous thralldom. 

As she was being conducted slowly through the 
throng, she had occasion to notice a thin, wasted 
man who stood in the row of men nearest the car- 
riage. A half-starved boy clung to his hand. 


CORINE. 329 

‘‘Wot’s et all about, pop?” asked the child’s 
shrill voice. 

“The lady hez made a great speech, Mickey,” 
answered the man. “She likes us, an’ wants to 
help us, ye know.” 

“An’ will Maggie an’ Mary git work agin? 
An’ will we hev enough to eat agin?” pursued the 
child. 

“Idoan know, Mickey. Mebbe we will. But 
the lady made a fine speech fer us, see?” 

Corine could not wait to distinguish whether the 
boy ‘ ‘ saw ’ ’ or not, for the obstructing crowd had 
been parted and she was hurried to the carriage. 
But she herself did “see,” and a sudden chill 
struck her heart, radiant with the brilliance of her 
triumph. 

Her companions w^ere overwhelming her with 
their words of extravagant praise and appreciation, 

as the carriage rolled swiftly toward A Street 

She hardly heard them, and answered in a short, 
constrained, abstracted manner. They attributed 
this to her fatigue and the reaction from the high 
tension at which her nerves must have worked 
during that intense discourse, and excused her 
seeming incivility. In reality she was pondering 
over those innocent heart-broken words, “Will we 
hev enough to eat agin?” 


330 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


Had she done anything to give those hungry 
toilers bread? Had she even given them real en- 
couragement and comfort? Or was Helen right? 
Was she missing her opportunities in life? These 
questions were vexing her sorely. But by the 
time the carriage had reached the house she had 
again settled them all to her own satisfaction — at 
least, she pretended she had. 

“Why, of course I am benefiting my fellow- 
men. Did they not rave over my address? Who 
ever heard that a person who was making the stir 
that I am creating stopped to ask whether she is 
doing as much good in the world as an old-fashioned 
woman like dear Helen, who spends all her time 
in the house, caring for her babies and cooking for 
her husband? The idea is absurd.” 

The arrival of the gentlemen and Helen, just 
then, caused her to end her soliloquy. They had 
taken a coupd to come home, as the cars were all 
so crowded. They had been discussing the speech 
during the short drive home. Helen had at first 
thought that she would say nothing to Corine un- 
less Corine would ask her for her opinion. She 
had remembered, however, how very unpleasant it 
is to appear in any public capacity before one’s 
friends, and then, meeting them directly after- 
wards, to be greeted with no mention of the per- 


CORINE. 


331 


formance at all. The sharpest criticism is more 
grateful, under these circumstances, than the ex- 
asperating silence that is so general on such occa- 
sions. For this reason, when they entered the room 
where Corine was standing before the grate, look- 
ing down into the fire, Helen went up to her at 
once and threw her arms about her neck and kissed 
her sincerely. 

“We have been talking about it all the way 
home, Corine, and the jury is agreed. Do you 
care to hear the verdict?” 

“I certainly do, Nellie, although I knew before 
I ever set foot in X. what it would be.” 

“Well, dear, this is what the men folks and I 
think. You certainly had a magnificent success. 
Harry and I have seen a great many audiences go 
wild with delight while we have been here, but 
neither of us has ever seen anything that was even 
a weak approach to the ovation that was given you 
to-night. You scored a perfect and complete suc- 
cess in what you attempted. But I still cling to 
the old notion that you would do more good in the 
long run by remaining in the ranks of plain, com- 
mon, domestic women. Papa and Harry seem to 
agree with me, but I will let them speak for them- 
selves.” 

“Yes, my child,” said old Mr. Chamberlain as 


332 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


he took her hand, “ while I sincerely congratulate 
you on your complete and astonishing success in 
what you have conscientiously undertaken, I must 
indorse what Helen has so well expressed already. 
You have joined a movement which bodes no good 
to a world cursed by false moves. No good has 
ever come from attempts to contravene the order 
instituted by an all-wise Creator. The fine mold 
and exquisite organism of woman have been given 
her for nobler, diviner work than this that you 
have chosen. The subtile influence that you 
would exert if you would accept the place God has 
assigned to woman would be more lasting and more 
powerful for good than the influence exerted in the 
way that you have essayed to-night. But I have 
confidence that a mind as logical as that which you 
to-night have shown to be yours will, under God’s 
guidance and the operation of His Holy Spirit, see 
these things in their true light sooner or later.” 

The old man’s words were too evidently well- 
meant to offend Corine, so she simply said : 

“I thank you, Mr. Chamberlain, but I do not 
think we will agree on the subject, so you will please 
all excuse me for this evening. I am very tired.” 

“Shall I go up with you, Corine?” asked Helen. 

“No, Nellie dear; I think I would rather be 
alone, please.” 


CORINE. 


333 


“Well, good night then. I hope you will rest 
well, you look so tired. If there is anything you 
need, ring for us. I will send Marie up with a cup 
of tea presently.” 

Corine did wish to be alone. How often we 
have wished the same thing with as little success 
as she had that night. There are companions who 
will not heed our wishes, and they intrude on our 
most sacred moments unbidden. But no, not un- 
bidden. For, is it not usually our own folly that 
insists on dragging them into our acquaintance? 
And can we wonder that, after we have by vio- 
lence brought them to us, they will not leave 
again ? 

Alas, Corine ! She could not banish certain 
pictures and certain words from her presence that 
night. It was long past the midnight hour when 
she finally fell asleep ; and, when she did sleep, a 
half-starved boy who looked strangely like old Mr. 
Chamberlain was standing before her, and he was 
saying, “You have joined a movement which 
bodes no good to a world cursed by false moves. 
An’ will Maggie an’ Mary git work agin?” 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 

Nothing more was said about the address the 
next day. There are times when people think and 
feel rather than speak, and this was one of them. 
Perhaps in Helen’s case the quietness was partly 
due to another cause, however ; Harry had made 
arrangements to leave on that day on a somewhat 
extended business trip that would require his 
absence from the city for at least a week. He 
would willingly have deferred the trip, but had 
already delayed it as long as he dared, as he did not 
wish to be absent from X. when the new pastor 
paid his first visit to the mission. Now that 

Pastor P had come and gone, there was no 

further excuse for his remaining at home. 

He disliked to leave, it is true, as his father had 
just come, and as Corine was there. But he knew 
his father’s strict business ideas, and therefore 
judged that he would be better pleased if he went 
away to attend to necessary affairs than if he 
neglected urgent business on account of showing a 
courtesy to his father and to his wife’s cousin. 

(334) 


THK GREAT STRIKE. 


335 


Harry was not mistaken. His father entirely 
approved of his decision to go, and when Harry 
offered an apology for leaving so soon after his 
arrival the old man only said: “Well, well, 
Harry, never mind about me. I’m going along 
with you.” 

“Why, papa,” exclaimed Helen, “the idea of 
your knocking about with Harry on a business 
trip so soon after your fatiguing voyage ! It will 
not do for you to think of such a thing.” 

“Pshaw, child,” answered he, “I’m still as 
sound and tough as a stick. Besides, I want to see 
what kind of a business man my boy has grown to 
be.” And in spite of her objections he went with 
Harry. 

They went very early, leaving Helen and Corine 
to finish their breakfast alone. The girls had not 
yet left the table, when they heard a sound for 
which they had both been listening. It was the 
news-boy’s voice, crying shrilly, “ Payeepoah ! ! !” 
At the same moment they heard the Morning 
News^ folded in a tight wad, flung against the 
door. Helen ran to fetch it, aijd they were soon 
reading the account of the mass-meeting, both 
sitting in the great rocker, with their heads laid 
close together. 

The News contained a graphic account of the 


336 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


speech, accompanied by a rough wood-cut that 
was intended to resemble Corine. They had a 
merry laugh over this, and then lost themselves in 
the account. Corine fairly blushed at the un- 
stinted praise that had been showered upon her by 
the lavish hand that is the peculiar possession of 
the modern reporter. The article ended by proph- 
esying a glorious future for “the talented young 
student of social problems, who, it is whispered, is 
not yet at the age of thirty.’^ 

But what an irony there sometimes is in concur- 
rent events. Side by side with this column, in 
which the world was promised all kinds of rest and 
happiness and prosperity as a result of Corine’s 
address, there was an account, under startling head- 
lines, of another immense strike that had broken 
out in the very night when she was addressing 
that great multitude at the Auditorium. 

In fact, just as she was closing with that sublime 
peroration, a committee which the street car em- 
ployes had sent to the offices of the company to 
present the grievances of the men were leaving the 
offices after an unsatisfactory conference, and were 
pursuing their way to the headquarters of the 
street-car employes’ association, where a meeting 
had been appointed for twelve o’clock that night. 

Arriving there, this sub-committee entered into 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


337 


session with the other members of the executive 
committee, and, when the men gathered at the ap- 
pointed hour, the result reached by the committee 
was that a general strike on all the lines be recom- 
mended. The men were not slow to act on this 
advice. They were weary with their seventeen 
hours’ toil of that day, and in no mood to dally long 
with a question that each one had been slowly de- 
ciding for himself during weeks and months pre- 
ceding. With a spirit that surprised even some of 
the bolder leaders, they decided to go on strike in 
the morning. Not a single man was to report for 
duty. 

Of course, the newspapers had their representa- 
tives at the hall, and, although none of them were 
admitted, they had no difficulty in obtaining pos- 
session of the facts from the men as they left the 
meeting. 

Helen and Corine, whose whole attention had 
been absorbed by the account of Corine’s great 
success, having finished reading that column, at 
once stumbled on the ugly headlines that began, 
“HORSES RESTING,” “NOT A CAR TO 

eeave the city railway barns this 

MORNING,” and ended, “The outlook is se- 
rious AND THERE WILL BE TROUBLE.” 

The evening paper confirmed the prediction of 


338 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


its morning contemporary. There had been 
trouble at several points in the city. The directors 
of the railway company were as defiant in their 
attitude as the men who were striking, and they 
had determined to force their cars through under 
police protection. The result had been a series of 
skirmishes between the strikers, who were sur- 
prisingly desperate considering the early stage of 
the strike, and the police, who seemed glad of a 
fair opportunity to exercise the savage part of their 
natures. Blood had been shed, and the outlook 
was dark indeed. 

Helen was always deeply concerned when vio- 
lence of this kind was reported in the papers. Her 
sympathetic nature could not remain disinterested 
under circumstances that were certain to entail 
suffering and misery on one or on many of her 
fellow beings. In this case she was doubly con- 
cerned. 

‘‘Think of those poor wounded fellows, being 
carried to their poor homes, where they will not 
receive proper care, where, likely, fever will set in, 
and leave them either dead or unfit to work for a 
long time. Oh, I think these strikes are the most 
horrible things! I don’t see why the employers 
and their men cannot agree. Our fathers never 
had any trouble with their men, Corine, and Harry 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


339 


never lias had, and he has discharged more than 
one incompetent man. I have been at the factory 
dozens of times and have often talked with the 
men about their families, and they all seem per- 
fectly happy and contented. From their manner I 
know that they think all the world of Harry. What 
bothers me too about this strike is that I promised 
a poor sick woman at the west end that I would 
see her to-morrow and bring her some strengthen- 
ing tonic. She has been sick so long, and is 
always so patient Her husband is quite nice, too. 
He works at the west-end car barns. I just wouder 
whether he has joined the strike. I hope not, for I 
have talked to him about strikes, and told him 
how wrong I think they are. I remember once he 
said, ‘Never fear about me. Miss,’ (they always 
call me ‘Miss’), ‘I don’t get much wages, but a 
little is better than none.’ I would hate to find 
that he has broken his promise, but I know if he 
has they must be suffering, for they lived strictly 
from hand to mouth. If I could only think of some 
way to get out there.” 

“Why don’t you take a cab?” suggested Corine. 

“Don’t you remember that last evening’s paper 
stated that the cab and ’bus drivers have gone out 
on a sympathetic strike ? ’ ’ 

“That’s so. But say, Helen, I never knew that 


340 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


you took any interest in the laboring men in that 
way. Do you actually go right into Harry’s 
factory and talk to all sorts of men?” 

“Why, of course I do. They are always glad to 
have me, too.” 

■ “ And do you get around to their houses, and tell 
the men what they ought to do and what not? ” 

“Yes, sometimes.” 

“ Well, who takes care of the house-work then?” 

“Oh, that comes first. I don’t do these other 
things unless I have time. But a person can gen- 
erally manage to get her work done and have 
enough time to make a visit or two to sick people. 
It’s just as easy to make that kind of visits as it is 
to make fashionable calls, and we all find time for 
those. The other item I mentioned, having a talk 
with the men occasionally, comes in just incident- 
ally, when I go out to the factory to come home 
with Harry, or when the men happen to be at 
home when I call on their wives.” 

The next morning’s paper brought better news. 
It reported that the strikers had had several con- 
ferences with the railway managers, and that the 
difficulty would undoubtedly be settled soon. 
Toward evening the girls were surprised to see a 

few cars passing down W Avenue, and soon 

they noticed that they were running regularly. 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


341 


The evening paper had it that the strike was 
ended, the men and the company having com- 
promised by yielding a few points each. 

“I am so glad,” said Helen; “we will go out 
and see Mrs. Schneider to-morrow morning, Corine. 
I know she will not blame me for not keeping my 
promise, for she will know that it was impossible 
for me to come. You’ll go with me, will you not?” 

“Of course I will. But come, let’s go to bed 
now. I’m tired enough to sleep standing against 
the wall. We must have been talking awfully 
much to-day, for I don’t see what else could make 
me so tired.” 

Barly on the following morning Helen prepared 
the basket she had been wanting to take to the 
sick woman, and they started away. 

“I’ll not be gone more than two hours and a half 
at the most, Marie,” Helen said. “Perhaps we 
can get back in a little less time than that, though I 
hardly think so. If baby wakes and is hungry, 
give her a little cream and hot water. Don’t make 
it too sweet, though. And be sure to keep Faith 
out of mischief.” 

The two were soon seated in a car, and chattering 
as fast as their tongues could say the words. It is 
curious how a person is stimulated to talk in the 
street cars. Whether the motion of the car acceler- 


3^2 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

ates the motion of the tongue, or whether one in- 
voluntarily tries to oppose the rattle of the car with 
the sound of the voice, I do not know. But, once 
started, the words seem to come of themselves. 
Our travelers almost forgot to change cars at the 
Square, and as soon as they were seated in the west- 
bound car, they launched out into their talk once 
more and were soon oblivious of all around them. 

Suddenly the car came to a rude stop that al- 
most threw tliem to the floor. They were still 
struggling to regain their balance, when they 
heard a storm of shouts and oaths and curses. The 
driver of the car was seized by two or three ruffians 
and hurled bodily out ov*er the fast-gathering crowd 
on the stone pavement. He lay there limp and 
motionless. 

A louder shout drew the frightened eyes of the 
passengers to the other end of the car. The con- 
ductor was sharing the fate of the driver. 

The crowd was now denser, reaching to the curb 
on both sides of the street. Policemen were run- 
ning to the scene from all sides. Their clubs were 
swinging in the air like flails. But for every 
swinging club there were a hundred angry flsts, 
and the keepers of law and order were knocked to 
the ground, bruised and bleeding, and tramped un- 
der foot like logs. 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 343 

“Away with the car!” shouted a maddened 
voice, distinctly audible above the tumult. 

“Away with the car!” came in answer from five 
hundred hoarse throats. 

Paving blocks crashed like shrieking bombs 
through the windows. 

A bundle of fish-plates came rattling through 
the roof. 

Then suddenly loud voices were yelling: 

“ Stop ! Stop ! A lady ! A lady ! ” 

There on the rear platform stood a terror-stricken, 
shrinking form, frantically beckoning with its 
hands. 

It was Corine. 

At the first approach of the mob the passengers 
had crouched down on the floor of the car. There 
were three men in the car, and Helen and Corine. 
When the missiles began to fly, the terror of the 
passengers knew no bounds. The mob of excited 
men had evidently not taken thought that there 
might be passengers on the car. In their position 
of refuge on the floor they could not be seen from 
outside. Now they were doomed to certain death. 

Helen appealed to the three men to help them. 
They seemed not to comprehend her meaning at 
all. They huddled there with teeth chattering 
and eyes starting and reason gone. 


344 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


Then a thought struck her. The mind acts with 
w^onderful velocity at such moments, if it is only 
kept clear. Here was Corine, who was informed 
on questions of capital and labor ; nay, Corine who 
had swayed that countless throng at the Audi- 
torium at that great meeting only a few days 
before. Should she not be able to control this 
angry legion? She would propose it to her. 

“Corine,” she said, and each of the young 
w^omen noticed how colorless the face of the other 
was, “will you not step out and try to quiet 
them ?” 

Her voice was scarcely audible above the horri- 
ble confusion. 

But Corine understood. 

She was amazed. 

“What do you mean, Nellie? I go out there? 
It would be instant death.” 

“ Corine,” said Helen, “what will it be if we re- 
main here ? ” 

“Oh, I can’t doit,” moaned Corine, wringing 
her hands in agony. 

Helen saw that she must take desperate action. 
She would willingly have tried herself to quiet the 
mob, but she wished to save all their lives, and 
was certain that Corine would gain an immediate 
hearing even from this wild, frenzied crowd, because 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


345 


they would know her, and had been so completely 
under her control before ; whereas the sight of her- 
self, a stranger to them, well-dressed and with 
jewels, would only inflame them the more, fierce as 
was their hatred against all who were accounted or 
seemed to be rich. 

Helen looked into Corine’s eyes with a look that 
was not to be opposed. 

“Corine,” she said, “you must go out and 
speak to them. It is just the work for which you 
are fitted. There is no time to be lost. Go.” 

Corine was helpless. She obeyed, hardly know- 
ing what she did. 

The result was as Helen had anticipated. 

When the violence ceased, Corine gathered 
courage. 

“Hush, hush,” cried a rough voice. “Listen 
to the lady.” 

“ Down with the ladies. My wife ain’t got no 
jewelry,” shouted a drunken ruffian. 

“Put ’im out,” shouted another. “It’s the 
lady wot speeched at the meetin’ the other night.” 

“ Wot’s fine speeches goin’ to help us? ” brawled 
the drunkard. “ Down with ’er, I say.” 

“Shut him up,” called a commanding voice. 
“Madame, you’d better come off* the car. We’re 
goin’ to fire it.” 


346 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


Corine was about to reply, when the men at the 
other end of the car began a fearful fusillade of 
missiles. They had not understood why the pro- 
ceedings had been delayed, and had grown im- 
patient at the stoppage of the work of demolishing 
the car, knowing that new forces of police would 
soon arrive upon the scene. 

Several men ran forward to draw Corine from 
the platform to take her to a place of safety. She 
saw them rushing toward her, and with a shriek 
ran back into the car, where she fell on the floor in 
a swoon. 

Helen knew then that there was nothing else to 
be done than for her to attempt to gain the front 
platform. This she would essay to do. 

It was well for her that some of the mob saw 
her as soon as she rose in the car, for she never 
could have passed alive through the storm of 
missiles which she had determined to brave. 

The men at the rear of the car had been shout- 
ing to those at the front to desist, but the shouts 
had been unheeded or misunderstood. None of 
the men had dared to enter the car to attempt to 
save Corine. It seemed too much like certain 
death to go after her. 

When Helen rose she was observed, and the 
storm began to desist A few blocks were still fly- 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


347 


ing at the car, hurled by the men farther in the 
rear of the crowd. One of them struck her left 
hand, but in the excitement of the moment she 
did not wait to notice whether it had inflicted se- 
rious harm or not. 

When she reached the platform she was greeted 
by the coarse voice of the drunken fellow who had 
so grossly insulted Corine. He had wormed his 
way to the crowd at that end of the car, having a 
vague idea that the men there were of a baser sort 
than those he had endeavored to incense into 
violence against Corine. He was circulating a 
report among them that the car contained several 
of the railway stockholders with their wives. As 
Helen appeared, he yelled : 

“There’s one, knock ’er down.” 

At the same time he threw a stone at her, which 
fortunately flew wide of its mark. 

The men were in an ugly mood. A committee 
of their wives had called on the wives of both the 
railway president and the vice-president, and had 
been refused admittance. 

Was Helen one of these women ? They looked 
at her and grabbed the blocks in their hands 
tighter. 

But Helen had raised her hand with a quiet 
gesture that asked for silence. She was speaking 


348 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


now. Corine heard her, half-revived from her 
faint. 

My dear men,’^ said Helen, “ why do you wish 
to kill us? We have done you no harm. What a 
shame, to attack poor innocent women ! Will our 
life-blood raise your wages and give your children 
bread ? Have I ever done anything else than wish 
you well? Why, even now we were on our way to 
the west end to help one of your poor suffering 
wives. Will you not disperse and allow us to 
proceed ?” 

“ICs the lady as is always ben helpin’ my 
neighbor’s wife that’s ben sick all winter,” cried a 
stalwart voice. “Ain’t it, John?” And he ap- 
pealed to the man standing next to himself. 

“That’s who it is,” answered he. “She’s all 
right, boys. She’s done lots of us poor folks kind- 
nesses as no one else would do in her place. It’s a 
shame to treat ’er this way.” 

“Three cheers for the lady, God bless her,” 
called another voice. 

The change that came over the crowd was 
marvelous. 

Men who a moment before had been frenzied 
with rage were now wild with good-will toward 
her whom they recognized as their true bene- 
factress. The three cheers were rendered with 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


349 


tremendous vigor. Then the horses were brought 
and attached again to the car. The conductor was 
reinstated on his platform. The driver was taken 
up, and when it was found that he was unable to 
stand a hundred volunteers offered to take his 
place. The track was cleared and everything in 
readiness to start the car, from which the broken 
glass and the splintered wood and the missiles that 
had been thrown in had been removed, when 
Helen asked them to wait one moment. 

“This lady is not in condition to go on,” she 
said, pointing to Corine. “ If one of you will send 
for a cab we will go home.” 

“No, no,” protested Corine. “I’m quite strong 
again, Nellie. It was only a momentary weakness, 
that’s all. If you are able to go on, I feel perfectly 
able to accompany you.” 

Helen endeavored to persuade her, but to no pur- 
pose, and the car was soon carrying them with un- 
wonted swiftness toward their destination. There 
was no schedule time to observe, and no passengers 
cared to enter the badly dilapidated car. When 

they reached S Avenue the driver stopped the 

horses and said to Helen : 

“We will wait here for you, lady.” 

Helen hurried with Corine to the humble cottage 
where the Schneiders lived. 


350 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“ I can stay but a moment, Mrs. Schneider,” she 
said. “We had quite an adventure in the city^ 
and should not have come at all, but I have been so 
worried about you, you know. How are you?” 

“ Oh, I be so much bedder. Miss. Delass med’cine 
vot you bring, he haf done me so good, an’ de 
shpring air, he seem helps me more yet.” 

“Yes,” said Helen, smiling, “God’s medicine 
is always the best. But we must be going. Mr. 
Schneider will tell you about our mishap. He was 
there. Is he in the strike, too?” 

“No, Miss, not him. But he can’t not vork 
by de barn. Dem odder men, dem don’t not let 
him. He go down town dis morning to see if he 
find some odder vork.” 

“ Ah yes, 1 see. Now, good bye, and I hope you 
will soon be entirely well.” And Helen took the 
wasted hand in hers and gave it a warm grasp of 
farewell. 

“Goot bye. Miss. Gott bless you an’ bring you 
safe home.” 

The car was waiting for them. They entered, 
and were soon at the Square again. From here 
they were obliged to walk home, as the car which 
had taken them out and return was the only one in 
sight, and it could not be shifted. It was the last 
car that was run in the city for three days. 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


351 


When they reached Helen’s home on A 

Street, Corine fell into an arm-chair and wearily 
removed her hat and gloves. 

“ I think I’ll go up stairs and lie down a while,” 
she said. “I feel rather tired after our experience; 
don’t you, Nellie?” 

“Well, I do feel rather nervous, I must confess. 
I’ll go up and lie down with baby. Perhaps we’ll 
both go to sleep.” 

Helen did fall asleep. She waked up and looked 
at her watch. It was half past eleven. She had 
slept over an hour, and began to fix hurriedly for 
dinner, as Marie was very prompt and did not like 
to be kept waiting when a meal was on the table. 
When she had finished, she tiptoed across the hall 
and tapped softly at Corine’s door. There was no 
response, so she went down stairs alone. 

“Miss Hereford is sleeping, Marie,” she said. 
“We will not wait dinner. She will be down pres- 
ently and will not like it if we have waited for her. 
Where is Faith ? ’ ’ 

“ She’s with me in the kitchen.” 

“Very well. Just bring in the dinner when you 
are ready. I am quite hungry.” 

Dinner was soon on the table, and they began 
the meal. Helen ate very slowly, but Corine did 
not appear. 


353 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“You may set the things into the warming- 
closet, Marie,” said Helen, as she finished eating. 

“O Mrs. Chamberlain, I forgot to tell you,” 
said Marie. ‘‘There was three gentlemen here to 
see you. They said they would be here again after 
dinner.” 

“Were they together?” asked Helen, wondering 
who it could have been. 

“No ma’am, they all came separate.” 

The bell rang at that moment, and Helen was 
called into the reception room by Marie, who had 
gone to the door. 

“Excuse me for interrupting you so soon after 
dinner, Mrs. Chamberlain,” a polite young man 
was saying to her. “ But we go to press at three, 
and I would like to speak to you a few moments 
before making up my assignment of copy.” 

He bowed and handed her a card that informed 
her that he was called James Monroe, and that he 
was reporting on the Journal staff. 

If there was anything that Helen disliked it was 
newspaper publicity, so she determined to say noth- 
ing except what was necessary to be civil. The 
young man was affable in the extreme and a splen- 
did conversationalist. He asked her a number of 
questions, but she begged to be excused from discuss- 
ing the occurence in the car that morning. He 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


353 


asked her pardon, put away his tablet, and began 
to talk of other things. Gradually the talk drifted 
back to the strike and the morning’s happenings, 
and soon the young man left, having made a very 
agreeable impression on Helen. This ordeal she 
passed through three separate times, and she won- 
dered how much alike the reporters were. 

She wondered still more when the evening paper 
came and she found that the reporters had learned 
all about the affair from her own self. Great dis- 
play types had flashed down the heading, “A 
BRAVE ACT;” then, “A MODEST WOMAN 
FACES AN ANGRY MOB AND THEY CHEER 
HER TO THE ECHO;” then, “Her Com- 
panion, THE WELE-KNOWN AGITATOR, MiSS 
Hereford, fades into a faint, whiee Mrs. 
Chambereain boedey queees the maddened 
Men.” 

Then followed a sensational description of the 
morning’s scene. Then the account went on to 
say : “A Journal reporter called at the refined 
and aristocratic home of Mrs. Chamberlain this 
afternoon and learned the following details.” It 
made Helen fairly blush to see what a multitude 
of details he had learned from her. The whole 
trend of the article was in her praise and to 
Corine’s disparagement. But I am anticipating. 

23 


354 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


It was half past two when the last reporter left. 
They had followed on each other’s heels in a fashion 
that led Helen to believe that each was only wait- 
ing for the other’s exit before making his own ap- 
pearance. As soon as the last one had bowed 
himself out she repaired to the dining-room. No 
Corine was there. She rang for Marie, and ques- 
tioned her. 

“No, the Miss has not been down.” 

Full of alarm, she hurried up the stairs. She 
tapped at the door again, and this time a feeble 
voice said, “ Come in.” 

When she entered, Corine was just waking from 
a restless sleep. Her face was flushed and her lips 
were dry and feverish. 

“Why, Corine,” was Helen’s greeting, “you are 
sick.” 

“No indeed.” Corine tried to say it cheerfully. 
“I’ll get up now.” 

“You shall do no such thing. I will ring for 
Marie, and she shall bring you something to eat, 
and then I’ll send her around the corner for Doctor 
Smith.” 

“Why, Nellie, that would be absurd. See, I 
can get up as easily as you please.” She suited 
the action to the word, at least she tried to, but in- 
stead of getting up she fell back on her pillow. 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


355 


“See, what did I say?” said Helen. 

“Oh, that’s nothing. I was just a little dizzy 
and weak.” 

“And that’s just the reason why I want your 
dinner brought up, because you are a little dizzy 
and weak.” 

Corine submitted, and the dinner was brought up. 
Without any more words on the subject the doctor 
was sent for. It was six o’clock when he came. 
By that time Helen had had opportunity to see the 
evening paper, reading what has already been men- 
tioned above. 

The doctor looked non-committal, as all doctors 
always do. It is extremely doubtful whether they 
ever look grave, as books would have their readers 
believe. He said that Corine’s system had 
evidently been overtaxed, and that the nervous 
strain had been too much for her that morning. 
He ordered that she be kept from any excitement, 
that she see no newspapers and learn nothing 
further about the strike, and faithfully take the 
powders he left, and get as much sleep as possible. 

Helen followed him to the door and asked him 
whether there was any danger. 

“Just keep her quiet,” was his evasive answer. 
“ I will be here again in the morning. Good even- 
ing, Mrs. Chamberlain. Excuse me, sir,” for he 


356 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


had almost stumbled over a man who was coming 
up the step. 

Helen saw at once that this was another news- 
paper man. She determined that she would tell 
him nothing, even at the risk of being accounted 
rude. So when he said, “Good evening, Mrs. 
Chamberlain ; Doctor Smith, I believe. Is Miss 
Hereford sick. Or is it some one else in the family?’’ 
she answered : 

“ Sir, I must really decline to be interviewed any 
further, and if I can be of no other service I must 
beg to be excused.” 

“Certainly Madame,” he said, with Chester- 
fieldian politeness. “Pardon me for troubling 
you. Good evening.” And he went. 

She shut Ihe door hastily, for fear that he might 
change his mind, and hurried back to Corine’s 
room, where she spent the remainder of the even- 
ing, leaving her only long enough to go to the tele- 
graph office a few blocks distant, and send the 
following to Harry : 

“Do not let newspaper reports alarm you. Am 
all right, and have come to office myself to forward 
this. Corine is better. ” 

Imagine her surprise the next day when she 
came down after having helped Corine with her 
breakfast, to find in the News a full account of 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


357 


Corine’s prostration. Could Doctor Smith have 
divulged what she had so unceremoniously declined 
to tell ? She called Marie. 

“Marie, there was a gentleman here last even- 
ing just after the doctor left?” 

“ Yes m’m.” 

“ Did you notice whether he went in the 
direction of the doctor’s office?” 

“No m’m, he didn’t. When you let him out the 
front door he come ’round to the back.” 

“What did he want?” 

“ He said he wanted to see me. He heard I was 
a good girl, and he wanted to know if I cared to 
change my place.” 

“What did you tell him?” 

“I told him, ‘.No indeed.’ ” 

“ Did he go then? ” 

“No. He was a awful nice young man, an’ he 
staid a wile, talkin’ to me.” 

“ What about?” 

“Oh, just ’bout things in generly.” 

In spite of her vexation, Helen smiled. But she 
came to the conclusion that she had not treated 
the young man any worse than he deserved. 

Corine kept her bed for three days, at the end of 
which time the doctor allowed her to sit in the 
arm-chair well bolstered up with pillows. After 


358 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


that she gained strength rapidly, and when Harry 
and his father returned they found her on the 
porch in the great rocker, sunning herself. She 
still looked a trifle pale, but otherwise her attack 
did not seem to have left any traces. 

Helen had also telegraphed to Corine’s parents at 
the time when she sent the message to Harry, tell- 
ing them the newspaper reports were much over- 
drawn, and promising to inform them of the least 
sign of any change that might make it necessary 
for them to come to Corine. She wrote them regu- 
larly, twice each day, and, as her reports were so 
encouraging from the start, Mrs. Hereford, who 
had herself all in readiness to go at once, decided 
that the excitement of seeing her mother might do 
Corine more harm than good. So she wisely re- 
mained at Riverton. 

During her stay in bed Corine had much to 
think of. In the first place, there was her failure 
and Helen’s success. All she had accomplished 
when she faced the mob had been that a few of 
them were willing to take her out of the danger 
she was in. Helen, on the other hand, had induced 
them to restore the conductor and the driver, and 
to allow the car to proceed. She had not been 
able to say a word. Helen, though, had spoken to 
the men in the most natural manner. She had 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 


359 


been so frightened that she trembled from head to 
foot and in her inmost soul. Helen, though cer- 
tainly afraid, had been calm and collected. She 
had fallen into a deathly swoon. Helen had been 
strong enough to bear up, and in addition to take 
care of her. What was the secret of Helen’s 
power ? 

Of course there was the fact that Helen had 
come into contact with some of the men. But had 
she not herself come into contact with them when 
she addressed them at that meeting at the Audi- 
torium? Perhaps the majority of the street-car 
men had not attended that meeting. But neither 
had Helen come into personal contact with the 
great majority of them. And, after all, had they 
not all read her speech in the papers? Helen’s 
modest deeds of kindness had not been blazoned 
forth publicly as had been her successful effort. 

And so her logical mind had gradually again 
forced on her the question that she was so skill- 
fully and persistently trying to avoid, “Can it be 
that Helen is right after all ? Can it be that the 
woman who, as Helen terms it, remains in her 
God-given sphere wins more respect and has more 
power for good than the woman who chooses as I 
have elected?” These thoughts furnished her 
with material for many hours’ reflection. 


360 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


There was another thing that kept her thoughts 
busy. She had asked Helen to let her see the papers. 
“It will help me to pass the tiine,’^ she said. She 
was ashamed to acknowledge that she wanted to 
see whether they made any mention of her per- 
formance when she had been put to the trial only 
to fail ignoininiously. But, as she had expected, 
Helen had said she must not see the papers. 
There was no use in arguing with Helen. She 
knew that full well. She only ventured to say : 

“I wish you and the doctor knew how it tortures 
a person’s mind to lie here and have nothing to 
divert it.” 

“Just the kind of torture you need, Corine,” 
Helen had answered sweetly. 

Still another thing to call her thoughts into the 
torture. On the first day of her sickness a beauti- 
ful bouquet of roses had been sent to her. A card 
attached bore the name of John Perkins. Every 
day brought a fresh bunch of flowers — once carna- 
tions, once violets, once lilies, again roses. But 
there was no change of name, nor did John ever 
come to ask to see her. His messenger was ordered 
only to enquire how Miss Hereford was. 

But that was all over now, and Corine was ready 
to enter with her old energy upon the pleasures they 
would plan to have as fast as her energy would re- 


THE GREAT STRIKE. 361 

turn. Harry was overjoyed to find them all thriv- 
ing so well when he returned. He told them how 
worried he had been. 

“But how could you worry?” asked Helen. 
“Didn’t you believe my telegram?” 

“ Certainly I did. But there are some things we 
feel better about when we see them with our own 
eyes, especially when the woman who sends the in- 
formation always makes light of any sickness or 
injury in her own case. How did I know but that 
you had lost an arm or a limb, and were cheerfully 
telling me that you were all right.” 

“Now, Harry, you know I am not so bad as 
that. Just see, I haven’t a scratch except this 
little scab where a paving-block struck my hand. 
It was swelled somewhat, it is true. But, if I had 
telegraphed that my hand was slightly hurt, you 
would have come flying home with a corps of hos- 
pital doctors to dress the wound. Besides, you could 
learn from the papers that I had not lost any limbs.” 

“That reminds me, Nellie,” put in Corine, 
“ that you promised to save the papers for me. Can 
I have them now?” 

“Oh, wait till to-morrow when Harry and I go 
to the factory. I always help him when his mail 
has accumulated. You’ll be glad to have some- 
thing to do to pass the time while we are gone.” 


362 HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 

“Well, well. Don’t you have a secretary?” 
asked Harry’s father. 

“O yes, but he attends only to the letters that 
demand immediate attention. Harry likes to at- 
tend to the others himself. He says he wants his 
customers to feel as if they could do as well when 
they write to him as when they come to the city 
and see him personally. I tell him he is ‘cranky,’ 
but he says ‘crankiness’ like that pleases people, 
satisfies his conscience, and builds up business.” 

“And he’s right, quite right,” observed the old 
man. 

“Yes, I suppose so, ’ ’ said she. ‘ ‘ He always is. ’ ’ 

When they returned, the next day, it was almost 
noon. Corine had read all the papers. Helen 
saw that she had a strangely thoughtful air as they 
came in. She rose up to greet them, a bright smile 
on her face. But Helen detected the tell-tale tear- 
drops. With that tact which teaches the truly 
sympathetic that real pity is generally sparing of 
its words and often entirely silent, she said nothing. 

The days that followed were filled with whole- 
some pleasure. The spring-time had come and 
the winter was gone, and summer would soon be at 
hand ; and, best of all, the change of the seasons 
was a beautiful type of what was being wrought in 
Corine’s soul. 


CHAPTER XXL 


A SURRENDER. 

It was a wiser Corine that came back from X. 
some weeks later, wiser than the one who had gone 
there filled with the idea of her importance as a 
factor in the realization of that much-coveted re- 
sult to which men are pleased to apply the term 
millennium. Her mother noticed the change at 
the first glance, and said anxiously: 

“ Corine, what makes you look so strange? Are 
you really sure that you do not feel any effects of 
your sickness? ’’ 

“Quite sure, mother,” replied Corine. “But I 
will confess that I feel the effects of several other 
things.” 

“Well, what?” pursued her mother. 

“I’ll not tell you just yet, mamma. When I 
am sure of myself I will tell you all about it.” 
There the subject rested for the time being. 

Mrs. Hereford soon saw in what direction Corine 
was drifting. She found that her brilliant daughter 
had lost all interest in the meetings of the “Re- 

(363) 


364 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


form League,” and the “Twentieth Century Asso- 
ciation.” She still attended the meetings, but, 
where she had formerly taken so lively a part in the 
discussions and so active an interest in the work of 
both clubs, she now rarely spoke, taking the floor 
only when asked for her views on the question 
that happened to be up for debate. After a time 
she began to have excuses for not attending. Then 
it was not long until she would say, “ I do not care 
to go, mamma ; please ask them to excuse me.” 

Her mother was not pleased with the turn affairs 
were taking. She had been fostering high hopes 
of the brilliant career her daughter would be sure 
to accomplish. She was a woman who craved 
honor and fame, easily satisfied with the cheap 
trumpery of newspaper flattery, and she had been 
proud with joy when she received the papers an- 
nouncing Corine’s great success at X. She had, 
it is true, felt some misgivings when the ridicule 
of those self-same papers was directed so merci- 
lessly against Corine, almost before the ink with 
which her praises had been sung was dry on the 
pages of their preceding editions. 

Mrs. Carson, the leading spirit of the “Reform 
League,” had assured her that that was done 
simply to have something sensational with which 
the columns of the paper could be filled. 


A SURRENDER. 


365 


“ You have no idea, my dear Mrs. Hereford, to 
what lengths these newspaper men will go ; yes, 
and to what depths they will stoop when they want 
copy to satisfy the demands of their insatiable 
readers. You remember my cousin Jem, who 
visited us last summer and addressed the ‘ I/eague?’ 
He is now connected with one of the great dailies 
ill San Francisco. He has told me some of the 
things that take place behind the scenes in the 
offices. It is almost incredible how news is some- 
times ‘manufactured!’ No other word can ex- 
press it. You see, the paper has to appear at such- 
and-such a time, and it must be filled with read- 
ing matter, whether anything has happened or not. 
When nothing of a sufficiently interesting nature 
has taken place, something of an uninteresting 
nature must do duty instead ; and, to do this duty 
acceptably, it is dressed up in the garb of the sensa- 
tional. Depend upon it, the papers have wronged 
our girl. Does she not deny the printed reports ? ” 
“I cannot bring myself to speak of it to her,” 
answered Mrs. Hereford. “I have tried to lead 
the conversation up to the subject a dozen times, 
but Corine as often has refused to be led. You see, 
in conversation she is more than a match for me ; 
and I cannot persuade myself to ask her about it 
directly.” 


366 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Well, perhaps you can catch her napping some 
time, and then you will fiud that I am right, and 
that there is no dependence whatever to be placed 
on these newspaper reports.” 

Mrs. Hereford went home wondering about two 
things. First, about the volubility of her estim- 
able friend, Mrs. Carson ; secondly, about her in- 
consistency. For, if the papers were not to be 
trusted when they criticised Corine unfavorably, 
were they to be trusted when they praised her? 
She concluded by determining that if she would 
know the real truth she would be obliged to ask 
Corine herself. As she had not the moral courage 
to ask her in a straightforward manner, she cast 
about for an indirect way, and this was not difficult 
to find when once she began a diligent search for 
it. When they were out driving alone a few days 
later she suddenly said : 

“ Corine, why is it that you do not care to go to 
the meetings of the ‘ League * and of the ‘ Associa- 
tion ’ any more?” 

“Well, mamma, I have grown tired of them. I 
actually don’t care to sit there and listen to that 
bouncing, foolish Mrs. Carson, with her long flour- 
ishes about things of which she knows nothing.” 

“Why, Corine, you should not speak so dis- 
respectfully of your elders and superiors.” 


A SURRENDER. 


367 


“Well, she should not speak to her youngers and 
inferiors as she did to me yesterday. And does she 
know anything? Here she talks wisely about the 
slums of New York and kondon, and about work 
there ; and she has never been in either city, and 
it’s to be hoped in mercy to the cities that she 
never will be.” 

“ But you used to like to hear her, Corine. You 
and she were invariably on the same side in debat- 
ing any question, and you know it.” 

“Well, but that was before — .” She stopped 
short. 

“Before what?” asked her mother quickly. 
She was afraid the advantage she had hopes of 
gaining would escape her grasp again. 

“ Before I knew better,” answered Corine curtly. 

Her mother saw that she was baffling her, and 
very easily at that. She could muster only enough 
courage to say meekly : 

‘ ‘ That isn’t what you were going to say, Corine. ’ ’ 

“No, it isn’t, mamma,” replied Corine honestly, 
“and it’s just a shame how 5^011 and I beat about 
the bush lately. Why don’t we talk freely and 
straightforwardly about the things we have on our 
minds, I wonder.” 

“We could if we both would,” said her mother 
with a smile. 


368 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“Well, I for one am going to do it,” asserted 
Corine. 

“So am I,” said her mother. “And, to begin, 
allow me to remark that you should not say ‘well’ 
so often when introducing your sentences, my dear.” 

This broke the ice effectually, and they both had 
a good laugh. 

“Well, I suppose I learned that from Mr. Cham- 
berlain. He says it so often. But he’s a dear 
good man, and I like him ever so much.” 

“You began with ‘well’ again, my dear.” 

At this they indulged themselves in another in- 
formal laugh. Then Corine said : 

“We’re as slow as ever about getting at the 
point, mamma, in spite of our resolution. Now, 
I’ll tell you what I intended to say when I cut my- 
self so short a moment ago. I was about to make 
mention of two things: in the first place, a process 
which, I now see, had been going on in me for 
a long time before it reached its present stage ; in 
the second place, my going to X.” 

“I can’t imagine what the first can be, but the 
second I had suspected, and it is just what I have 
been wanting to discuss with you for some time, 
but you would not let me.” 

“I know I wouldn’t, mamma, and it was very 
unkind of me to act as I did. But now, discuss 


A SURRENDER. 369 

away, and I will not treat you so shamefully any 
longer.” 

“What I have been wanting to say is that it 
seems to me that because you were so unfortunate 
at X. you have lost all your interest in the afiairs 
in which you were totally absorbed before you 
w^ent there. Isn’t that true?” 

“ Well, mamma, I’ll not deny that I was rather 
rudely taken down there.” 

“But I do not see how that should so easily en- 
tirely discourage you. You know how the papers, 
all without exception, lauded you to the skies 
when you addressed the mass-meeting there. Now, 
I fail to see why you should feel so crestfallen 
when they prove faithless and poke fun at you 
because you were the innocent and unfortunate 
victim of a physical accident. I do not see the 
logical connection at all, between the circum- 
stances and your actions.” 

“But do you not think the papers had a right 
and a reason to say what they said?” 

“No, I do not. Mrs. Carson told me the other 
day—” 

“To be perfectly frank with each other, mamma, 
as we have resolved to be, I would say that it will 
be best to leave Mrs. Carson out of our conversa- 
tion altogether.” 

24 


370 


HKR PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“Well, if you so wish it, I can leave the dear 
creature out ; though what harm she would do any 
one I cannot imagine. Nevertheless the truth re- 
mains, that the papers report things not in order to 
be fair to the right and the truth, but to further 
their own ends.” 

“ Yes. But what the papers said in this case 
was true.” 

“It may have been true, and still told in such a 
way as would convey a false impression, you 
know.” 

“Now, mamma, to cut the whole matter short, 
I am going to tell you just exactly what has hap- 
pened to me, and what impression it has left on me; 
and, as it is so serious a matter, I hope you will 
consider it seriously, and not say, as soon as I have 
finished, that you think I’ll get over it. To make 
it all plain. I’ll have to drag in number one first. 
You know that I said a process had been going on 
in me for some time. This has been very long, 
perhaps longer than I myself know. You know 
how intimate Helen and I have always been. You 
know, too, how different we have always been. 
What I thought were the grandest things in life 
she thought grand mistakes, and what she thought 
the ideal of wisdom I thought the summit of 
simple-heartedness and folly. We often had our 


A SURRENDER. 37 1 

arguments about these things, and the wonder is 
that we remained as good friends as we did. 

“ ‘From time immemorial,’ as the speakers say, 
Helen has tried to persuade me to her views. I 
have told you about that before, but I do not think 
you ever paid much attention to it. One thing is 
queer, too. She did not make so much of an effort 
to convince me that her ideas of a woman’s life 
were better than mine, as she made to convince me 
that I ought to be an out-and-out Christian. Of 
course, here lately, since I have been so proudly 
pluming myself as a full-fledged female monstrosity, 
she has taken hold of me on that question also. 
But her first efforts, when we were school-girls 
together, were to get me to join the church. She 
was always so shy about it, dear little Nellie that 
she is ; but, just the same, that touched me more 
than if some one had come blustering at me like 
the great ‘evangelist’ I heard in New York last 
winter. I never acknowledged to Helen that her 
entreaties made any impression on me. Some- 
times I must have been very rude. I know I 
have often dropped the subject so cold-bloodedly 
that she must have thought it was an awful bore to 
me. Indeed, I am not sure whether I knew myself 
that what she said made any impression whatever 
on me. A few times I weakened, I remember, but 


373 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


it did not last long. I have found now, however, 
that her words were making an impression on me 
all along. 

“Well, by and by Helen goes and gets married — ’’ 

“She got married first, my dear, and then she 
went away,“ corrected Mrs. Hereford facetiously. 
The talk was seemingly becoming too serious for 
her. 

“You mustn’t interrupt me, mamma. It’s a 
long story, I know, and I have quite a ‘ gift o’ the 
gab,’ but it will do me as much good to tell it all 
as it will do you to listen to it.” 

“Why, I want to hear it, child. Go on. I in- 
terrupted you only from force of habit.” 

“Well, Helen got married and I went to college 
and then to New York. We saw nothing of each 
other for over two years. Then I go up to X. to 
make my first visit and a grand splurge. Instead, 
I make a grand fizzle, and lie around sick on their 
hands for a whole week.” 

“ I don’t see where the fizzle conies in. If your 
speech was not a grand success, then I fail to under- 
stand what a success is.” 

“Wait a bit. When I get through you will see 
what I mean. The very day I got to X. I was 
struck with the air that pervaded Helen’s home. 
You know how I always liked it at uncle’s house. 


A SURRENDER. 


373 


Helen’s home is jnst like that, only more so, as 
Fannie Green would say. She has two of the 
sweetest babies, and the grandest husband, and the 
loveliest home, — I just wish you could see her in 
her home. Mentally I contrasted my mode of life 
with hers. I was actually envious of her. I con- 
soled myself, however, with the thought that I 
was doing more good in the world than she was. 
I thought this all the more strongly when I was 
entrancing that immense audience at the Auditorium 
that night. I had barely left the hall, though, 
when all my glory was trailed in the dust.” 

Corine related the incident of the half-starved 
boy, and also told of the criticism that had been 
bestowed on her by Helen and Mr. Chamberlain. 

“They were only jealous,” her mother com- 
mented. 

“ No indeed, mamma. Don’t say that, and don’t 
for a moment think it. Neither Helen nor Mr. 
Chamberlain is that kind of person.” 

“Well, go on with your story. I think it is 
very interesting.” 

“All right. The next day we were reading 
about the street-car men’s strike, and, as we were 
talking about it, it appeared that Helen, as great a 
domestic home-body as she is, does more actual 
work among the poorer classes than I ever even 


374 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


dreamed of doing. Here I had been thinking that 
the only way to get anything really extensive and 
lasting done was to make great speeches and 
things, and that a person dared not trammel her- 
self with a home and husband and children ; and 
all this time Helen had been going quietly far 
ahead of me. 

“You remember how she said in her graduating 
address that the home is the foundation of all else ? 
Now, let me show you what she has done. She 
has founded a home of her own, and it is a home, 
not simply a place to eat and to sleep. By that 
she has set a good example. Think of me, giving 
the people advice about their home life, and my- 
self despising home life. By having a home of her 
own Helen has furthermore made herself competent 
to go right into the houses of others and help make 
homes of their wretched hovels, and by helping to 
found homes she has helped uplift humanity. 
Don’t you see, mamma? It’s all as clear as a 
crystal, and as beautiful too.” 

“It does seem that way, but are you positive 
there is no mistake in your logic? ” 

“ Positive as any one can be. I have thought it 
over again and again to see whether there were any 
holes in it. It all seemed too simple, compared 
with our fine-spun theories. But there isn’t a 


A SURRENDER. 


375 


single flaw in the whole piece. I am positively 
delighted with it. I would just like to throw it 
into the ‘ Reform I^eague ’ meeting like a bomb. 
Wouldn’t there be an explosion? Mrs. Carson 
would snap my head off, if it wereu’ t too much ex- 
ertion for her. ’ ’ 

“I thought Mrs. Carson was not to be mentioned 
in this conversation.” 

“That’s so. Shall I go on?” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“A few days after this conversation came our 
encounter with the mob. You know all about 
that, for it was in the papers. I believe they re- 
ported every breath I took and every one I didn’t 
take.” 

“Just what I said. An overdrawn account, to 
fill up the papers and to set people at gossiping.” 

“I don’t think it was much overdrawn. Of 
course, I do not know how I acted, because I was 
half out of my mind with fright, and entirely out 
of it for a while with a faint. But I know this 
much, that what they said in Helen’s praise was 
not overdrawn in the least. As frightened as I was, 
I could see how heroic she was. I tell you, 
mamma, she was positively grand.” 

“ But how did it happen that you were so fright- 
ened and she was not?” 


376 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

“I have thought of that a hundred times since, 
and I have come to this conclusion. We were both 
facing certain death. We both knew it. I was 
afraid to die, and she was not.*’ 

Corine was silent. Her mother was likewise. 
Their thoughts seemed to be busy with a subject 
neither could broach, in spite of their resolution 
not to beat about the bush. Mrs. Hereford at 
length broke the silence. 

“How was it that Helen had such power over 
the mob ? The papers said, ‘ Angry cries for blood 
turned into three cheers for Mrs. Chamberlain.’” 

“Don’t you see? Some of them recognized her 
as the person who had helped them in their 
troubles and sickness and so on.” 

“Didn’t they recognize you?” 

“ Yes, but all they saw in me was a person that 
could make a speech. Some of them were willing 
to get me off the car and take me to a place of 
safety. But for her they cleared the car, took the 
obstructions off the track, and ran the car out four 
miles just where she wanted it, waited there for 
her, and brought us back as far as they could to- 
ward her home. A person would hardly believe it, 
but I was right there all the time, and was wide 
awake too.” 

“Well?” 


A SURRENDER. 


377 


“Well, that’s about all. I went to bed then to 
stay several days, as you know. I tell you, 
mamma, I was busy thinking during those days.” 

“Yes, but now let’s get back to the point from 
which we started. All this, you say, has had an 
effect on you to make you take less interest in our 
meetings.” 

“ I should think it has. I am not ashamed to 
confess that I am completely convinced that 
Helen’s way is the only right way, and I want to 
be a woman just like her, what she calls a womanly 
woman, and our ‘ I^eague ’ and the ‘ Association ’ 
are not calculated to make that kind of woman of 
me.” 

“ Isn’t the change a rather sudden one to make ?” 

“ Why, no, mamma. Don’t you remember that 
I said at the outset that it is a process that has 
been working in me for a long time?” 

“ Yes, that’s so. I suppose now the first thing 
you will be doing will be to get married.” And 
poor Mrs. Hereford, whose idol had so irreclaimably 
fallen, began to cry a little. 

“No, that isn’t the point,” said Corine. 

“I wonder what is, then. Isn’t that what you 
consider Helen’s wisest move ?’ ’ 

“No indeed, mamma. It would be an insult to 
Helen to think that.” 


378 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


‘‘ Explain yourself.” 

‘‘I’ll have to use Mrs. Carson’s name, but as I’m 
in good humor now I will not care.” 

“ Go on, child. Don’t keep me waiting so long.” 

“ Well, as Mrs. Carson so often says, ‘ we must 
strike at the root of the evil.’ ” 

“Yes?” 

“The reason why Helen is so womanly a woman 
is because she is a good, thorough Christian. The 
great mistake in me is that I am not a Christian.” 

“ Why Corine, what ails you ? Of course you’re 
a Christian. Weren’t you baptized, and didn’t you 
go to Sunday-school for years, and haven’t you a 
Bible, and don’t you go to service often?” 

“Yes, I am civil enough to the Bible and to Mr. 
Denton’s sermons, as we reckon civility ; but I am 
not a Christian, with true devotion to the Bible as 
God’s Holy Word, and an unwavering trust in 
God’s Word and God’s Son; and I don’t believe 
you are either, mamma, are you?” 

“And you mean — ?” 

“I mean to go to Pastor Denton’s this very 
evening and to ask him to give me private instruc- 
tions in the Catechism, and to pray God for me. I 
am utterly ashamed, of the way in which I have 
treated the good Eord God, and if He will accept 
me I shall be His hereafter.” 


A SURRENDER. 


379 


She kept her word. That evening she surprised 
the pastor by calling at the parsonage and asking 
him whether she could speak to him alone for a 
few minutes. 

A few days later, when Corine came in to bid 
her mother ‘‘good bye,” as she was going to her 
first lecture at the parsonage, Mrs. Hereford said : 

“Wait a moment, Corine. I want to go with 
you.” 

“What for, mamma? I don’t think Mrs. 
Denton will be at home to-day.” 

“ I do not want to call on her. I want to go 
with you to the lecture.” 

“ But mamma, you are confirmed already.” 

“And have thrown away all I got at the time,” 
rejoined her mother. “It will not hurt me to 
acquire it again.” 

Corine was surprised beyond bounds. 

“Why, mamma, doesn’t the ‘Teague’ meet this 
afternoon?” 

“If the ‘Teague’ is a bad place for you, do you 
think it’s a good place for your mother?” 

Corine said nothing further, nor did Pastor Den- 
ton act as if he thought it anything strange that 
Mrs. Hereford came; and thereafter, whenever 
Corine went to lecture, her mother went with her. 

The next letter Helen received from Corine 


380 HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 

ended with these words : “ Be sure to come home 
at Christmas, Nellie. I am to be confirmed then 
at St. lyuke’s. Yours, Corine.” 

“ What does the girl mean ? ” said Helen to her- 
self. She went to her desk immediately and wrote : 

“What do you mean by telling me the happiest 
words I almost ever heard, in this strange, short 
manner? Is it really true? Write me at once, 
and tell me more about it. I shall certainly be 
there.” 

Then Corine wrote a long letter and explained it 
all. To say that Helen was happy is expressing 
what you know without any words on my part. 

One day Pastor Denton said to Corine, “ Would 
you prefer being confirmed at the parsonage in the 
presence of the church vestry and a few friends, or 
shall it be before the congregation?” He said 
this not because he wished her to choose the former, 
but because he knew that Corine was fighting a 
hard battle, and he thought perhaps that would 
make it seem easier to her. 

To his glad surprise she said, “ Why, Pastor Den- 
ton, when Christ has done all this for me, I think 
it is doing little enough if I confess Him publicly 
before all the world; and, if you are willing, I would 
much prefer having my confirmation at the regular 
service in the church.” 


A SURRENDER. 


381 


Christmas day came, and the Chamberlains were 
at Riverton, and, before the whole vast concourse 
that gathered at St. Luke’s on the birthday of the 
Christ, Corine stood forth alone and unattended, 
and “professed a good profession before many 
witnesses.” 


CHAPTER XXIL 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 

It would have been difficult to determine who 
was happier at Corine’s confirmation, she herself or 
Helen. She herself felt like a freed captive, hav- 
ing worn fetters and chains for long years, and now 
at perfect liberty. 

It had cost many a battle with others, but no 
more struggles with herself after the one that 
ended with her decision to let God’s will be done 
in her. After she had been brought to see the 
beauty of Christianity and had been led to the de- 
cision to accept it fully and without reserve, she did 
not look back to the old life with any longings and 
regrets at its disappearance. There were no dead 
there to whom she desired to give burial. There 
were no friends from whom she desired to take a 
fond farewell. There were no flesh-pots in Egypt 
whose savor still delighted her and tempted her to 
return. She had been borne to a firm decision and 
a lasting one, and by it she would abide, and the 
pastor doubted whether he had ever had a pupil 
more apt or more earnest. 

(382) 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


383 


But if no enemies from within assailed her, those 
from without were legion, and they had attacked 
her with repeated and with desperate endeavor. 
Mrs. Carson was not the only one who fell upon 
her at all times and places. The other members 
of the “ Teague ” and the “Association” were too 
keenly appreciative of the fact that every single 
member counts, to allow her to leave them with 
impunity. 

They all had their own stock in trade of argu- 
ments. One would openly ridicule the idea of 
churchliness, and show the superiority of human 
reason’s intelligence over allegiance to the Word. 
Another would say that the church was indeed a 
fine thing, but that certainly the work of the 
“Teague” was more important. Still another 
would argue that the church would indeed be good 
and even sufficient, if it did not so recklessly 
neglect the most important part of its work, for- 
getting to attend to the temporal, the physical, 
social, and mental welfare of its members, and be- 
ing too intent on the purely spiritual ; and that the 
“Association” supplied just this important defect. 
A fourth could not at all understand why Corine 
should n.ot be an earnest active member of both 
church and “ Teague,” assuring her that the objects 
of both were in perfect accord, and that the 


384 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


“lycague” surely had no principles or tendencies 
that were against the Word of God. 

But Corine knew all her opponents and their 
weapons and their soldiery, having engaged in de- 
bate with them on their own battle-ground scores 
of times. So their onsets ended in one inglorious 
defeat for themselves, and Corine pursued her pur- 
pose to its fulfillment. What v/onder that this 
fulfillment caused her such joy, having been won 
after so many battles ? 

Helen’s joy was so great for the same reason. 
How many days she had longed and prayed for this 
self-same moment. How many impatiences and 
uncertainties and doubts she had suppressed. How 
many battles she had fought within herself on 
Corine’s account. And now, here was victory, de- 
cided, certain victory, for Corine’s voice was brave 
and strong when she made her public confession. 

There was another in that great audience v/hose 
joy was perhaps equally great. It was a young 
man who sat with the singers at the organ. His 
round bass voice had never seemed so musical, so 
exultant and elastic, so buoyant and sympathetic, 
as it did that day. He sang with a happiness that 
was not simply of the eye and the lips, but was 
deep-seated in the soul. This young man’s name 
was John Perkins. 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 385 

He walked home from the service alone. He 
was soliloquizing: “I do not know why I should 
feel so happy about it. Of course, there is joy 
among the angels of God over one sinner that re- 
penteth ; but dozens have stood there confessing 
their faith and their hope, and, while happy that 
their souls had come to Jesus, I was not happy as 
I am to-day. It is true, Corine has always been 
more to me than others were. But when a woman 
tells a man ‘ no ’ in unmistakable terms, two 
separate and distinct times, it’s queer that he 
feels a special interest in her yet. But I suppose 
it’s like this. I’ve always felt certain that the 
reason why she sent me away was because I was 
crowded out by all that foolishness about woman’s 
great opportunities and duties and the like. I sup- 
pose my tough old heart thinks that perhaps now 
she’ll quit these follies, and then there will be a 
chance after all, maybe. Ah, well, perhaps there 
will be. But I am afraid I will never muster up 
courage to ask her again. What a cheerless thing 
life is, anyway.” And, despite his heart’s joy, he 
strode with slow and spiritless steps over the 
flagging that led proudly up to the new mansion. 

Corine’s joining the church was not to be simply 
a reception of the benefits of the church. She was 
willing to take up her full share of the church 
• 25 


386 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


work. Here she asked the advice of her Aunt 
Emma, and it soon became apparent that in Corine 
St. Luke’s had gained a member who would one 
day bid fair to rival Mrs. Doner in efficiency. 
That day might be some distance away as yet, for 
efficiency in church work demands more or less ex- 
perience. But come it surely would. 

Among other duties, Corine had accepted a posi- 
tion in the choir. She had a rich, full contralto 
voice, just what they much needed at that time. 

It was the most natural thing in the world that 
John should escort her home from the rehearsals, 
especially as the Easter music was put in practice 
immediately after Christmas, and he and she had 
some difficult duets to practice together. Not a 
few of his evenings were spent at the Herefords’. 
When Easter came, they knew their parts per- 
fectly, but they had also made surprising progress 
in their acquaintance with each others’ true selves. 
Although the Pentecost music had no parts that 
required their special practice together, still they 
seemed to think so, for John was at Corine’s as 
regularly as ever. 

What a difference there was in Corine, to be 
sure. It was a difference that did not lead him to 
think less of her, though. And as for her, she ap- 
preciated John’s sterling worth as she had never 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


387 


appreciated it before, since now she was occupying 
ground from whose heights true worth can be 
judged most accurately. There was no question 
about it : they loved each other more than ever, 
and he began to think that, after all, he might be 
emboldened to summon up that necessary courage 
which he had despaired of ever having again. 

What he began to think must have really oc- 
curred soon after; for Corine was an eminently 
truthful girl, and one day in June she sat down and 
wrote to Helen as follows : 

“ I know you are coming to Riverton next week, 
Nellie dear, but the news I have to tell you will 
not keep even that long. The news is in the shape 
of an invitation. Here it comes : 

“ ‘Yourself and family are cordially invited to at- 
tend the greatest event ever having occurred or 
ever to occur in Riverton, namely, the incredible, 
never-to-be-imagined marriage of Miss Corine Here- 
ford to Mr. John Perkins, one year from this date.’ 

“There, doesn’t that sound as if Fannie Drew 
had composed it? You think I should say Fannie 
Green, but I don’t mean Fannie Green. Do you 
know ? — there is a great difference between Fannie 
Drew that was and Fannie Green that is. Fannie 
is indeed greatly changed. She is just as jolly and 
mischievous as ever, as John and I could testify 


388 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


from recent experience with her ; but she has be- 
come such a darling womanly little wife and such 
a sweet sensible little mother, that her jolliness and 
mischief in their new setting seem like entirely 
new qualities. Perhaps I will be a changed creat- 
ure too, after a few more years. Still, I am so 
changed already, since my visit to you last summer, 
that I hardly can see how I can change much 
more. 

“ How often I think of the thrilling events of 
that visit — that visit that finally brushed the scales 
from my eyes, or, let me rather say, that shattered 
the walls that I had built between myself and God 
and happiness. It was verily epoch-making in the 
full sense of the term ; that is, if one dare apply so 
august a word as ‘ epoch’ to the periods of as use- 
less a life as mine had before that been. 

“When I think of that experience I am always 
reminded of the hymn that you used to like so 
well. I have learned it by heart, and, do you re- 
member, I once heartlessly laughed at you for do- 
ing the same thing? You know which one I mean, 
do you not ? 


‘God moves in a mysterious way, 
His wonders to perform : 

He plants His footsteps on the sea 
And rides upon the storm.’ 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


389 

“ Far it was on that storm of violence and terror 
that He rode triumphant into my soul. I am posi- 
tive that, had it not been for God’s good and won- 
derful providence in leading me into that fearful 
riot at X., I would not now be a Christian girl. 
And yet I sometimes wonder which has done more 
for me, the quiet gentle influence of years of asso- 
ciation with you, or the overwhelming influence of 
that terrible ordeal. I suppose God’s mercy has 
been attending me all these years, seeking my soul 
to save it. And I praise and thank Him daily for 
His goodness. Whatever the circumstances in 
which He has approached me with His Word of 
grace and mercy matters not so much. It is 
enough for me to know that He has found the lost 
sheep and is bearing it heavenward. 

“ But I thank God likewise for the other love 
that He has shown to me. I know that, were it 
not for His loving kindness, I would not now be 
happy in the prospect of my marriage to the best 
and dearest and grandest and noblest man on earth. 
You are at perfect liberty to take exception to my 
use of these superlatives, for you will want to be- 
stow these titles elsewhere. 

“To return to my invitation. You will un- 
doubtedly think we are foolish for setting the ex- 
act day and date a whole year ahead, but we are 


590 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


both intensely practical people, even if we do al- 
low ourselves to become a little sentimental now 
and then. We may, of course, change the day, for 
we are not a particle superstitious about that. But 
I am as good as positive that the great event will 
take place on that very day. Begin your prepara- 
tions now, so that nothing can deter you from be- 
ing a guest at the happiest event in the past, pres- 
ent, and future history of Riverton. There, that’s 
another statement to which you will without any 
doubt take exception. And, while you are at it, you 
might as well take exception to the unpardonable 
length of this was-to-be-short epistle. I can just 
see how vexed you are at being disturbed in your 
packing by this aggravating visitation. I’ll grant 
your last exception (not the others, mind), and will 
close.” 

To give an idea of the extent of Helen’s aggra- 
vation it will be sufficient if I state only this, that 
she sat down at her desk in the midst of a chaos 
of wrapping and packing and a half-dozen of other 
” ings,” and wrote a long, long letter to Corine, so 
full of happiness that it might have led one to be- 
lieve that it was her own wedding-day that was 
coming again. 

Corine was right about the day and date. The 
wedding occurred at the appointed time. It was 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


391 


not so large a wedding as Helen’s had been, as the 
class was not invited. Corine would have been de- 
lighted to have them all, but her mother’s health 
was not at its best at the time, so she deemed it in- 
advisable to have more guests than necessary. 

That the class was not forgotten, however, was 
clearly shown by a chat the girls (it seems most 
natural to call them that still) were having after 
the dinner. John and Harry were with them, but 
the girls were doing the chatting. Helen’s 
children had been carried off by those most grasp- 
ing of all people, the grandparents, so the coast 
was clear for talking. It is Helen’s voice we hear: 

“ Do you know, Corine, I have been thinking of 
a plan several times lately. I wonder how it will 
strike you. It’s this : Don’t you think it would 
be pleasant to have a re-union of the old class of 
’81 in June next year? You know it will be ten 
years then since we were graduated.” 

“ The very thing about which I have been talk- 
ing to John. Now, if we three are in favor of it, 
the others will surely be, don’t you think?” 

‘‘ I don’t see why they shouldn’t. It would be 
delightful. But who is to take it in hand?” 

“ Why, you and I, of course. They always ap 
pointed us as committee at any rate when there 
was anything special to do.” 


392 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


lyisten to that,” said John. ‘‘ I’ll have to tell 
the class about that if we have the re-union.” 

“ You shall do no such thing, Mr. Perkins,” said 
Corine. “You know that that was not said for 
publication.” 

“So be it,” said he, with mock resignation; 
“but you know how forgetful I am. I’m afraid 
I’ll forget that you have forbidden me to tell.” 

“ If you can forget that so conveniently, you can 
forget that I said the original too. But say, Nellie, 
what I have been wondering is, ‘ Where shall we 
have it ?’ The time will be easy to select. Most 
of them will want to attend the commencement, 
and we will have to regulate ourselves accordingly. 
But the place, that’s the rub.” 

“ Why not have it where we had our May merry- 
making?” asked John, with his eyes twinkling in 
reminiscence. 

“Good head,” said Helen. “These men do 
sometimes have an idea.” 

“I’d say the same if he weren’t my husband,” 
said Corine. 

It was settled then and there that the re-union 
should be proposed to the others, Helen and Corine 
acting as a preliminary committee, and the Doner 
farm being selected as the spot suitable above all 
others, and in addition agreeable for its associations. 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


393 


By and by the wedding party gathered at the 
front door to see the couple off. Their absence was 
to be six weeks at the sea-shore and in the mount- 
ains. 

At the end of that time they promptly returned^ 
glad to see old Riverton once more, and anxious to 
begin their housekeeping. 

Mrs. Perkins and the others of the family who 
had been living with John in his house had already 
removed to their former home. The good old lady 
had never felt quite at home in the grand new 
house, at any rate. 

“It’s all so fine, I am continually worrying that 
I will spoil something. Then, during the time the 
girls have been at school, we have had to keep a 
girl to keep the big establishment in order, and I 
never could bear to have any one else around doing 
my work. Seems as if they couldn’t do it to suit 
me at all. Perhaps that’s because I’m so old- 
fashioned too. Then there is so much fine com- 
pany since John has got up in the world so high, 
that I’m always afraid I’ll do something while they 
are here that isn’t style. I’ll feel much better out 
at the old place.” 

She meant every word that she said, honest old 
soul. She had gone into the new house to please 
John, and she was heartily glad to get out of it 


394 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


again. She liked the old place for its comforts. 
They were more to her than all the modern con- 
veniences that John had put into the new mansion. 

It is true, the old place had been considerably 
altered too. It was no longer outside of the city, 
the town having grown up all around it. The boys 
had platted the four acres into sixteen town lots. 
The people who bought them had erected very 
neat dwellings on them. In this way Jonathan 
Perkins’ old garden patcli had proved a treasure to 
his children in a manner he had never dreamed of, 
and had become quite a pleasant residence portion 
of the rapidly growing town. The old house had 
been entirely rebuilt to suit the fastidious demands 
of the tenants who might wish to rent it when the 
Perkinses moved into John’s new house. Still, it 
had a plenty of the old marks, and the old associa- 
tions of memory were all there. So it was by no 
means in the nature of a hardship, but rather the 
exact contrary, when the widow retired from the 
stately avenue and the fine house to the more mod- 
est surroundings of her old home. 

Corine and John had continued to urge her to 
stay with them, but to their most urgent invita- 
tions she would not listen for a moment. She had 
the utmost faith, she said, in the old saying that no 
house is big enough for two families. 


ANOTHER SURRENDER. 


395 


“ You will be wanting to have things yoiir way, 
as is perfectly natural and right,” she said to 
Corine, ‘‘and I will not have sense enough to keep 
my nose out of your affairs. Old folks like me are 
fond of giving advice whether it is good or not, 
and we can’t rest unless we are meddling in other 
people’s affairs. We will be all the better friends, 
my dear daughter, if we do not live so close to- 
gether.” 

She said this with so much candor and good 
nature that Corine could not forbear laughing. 

“ Yes, what a disgrace it would be if we would 
keep the neighborhood alive with our brawls,” she 
said merrily. “ Or if we would regale them with 
such sights as my chasing you around the yard 
with a broomstick, or your holding my head under 
the spout of the hydrant until I promised with a 
shriek that I would mix the biscuit the way you 
wanted it.” 

At this the good old soul had her turn to laugh, 
but she did not change her determination to do the 
wise thing and leave the young folks alone by 
themselves. 

Paul and one of the twins had already founded 
homes of their own. The other of the twins was 
satisfied to leave the new place, all he asked being 
that he be allowed to stay with mother. As for the 


396 HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 

two girls, they very much disliked to leave. But 
they thought so highly of Corine and were so de- 
voted to John that they wisely hid their disappoint- 
ment ; and, after all, they were as happy as ever in 
the old home. 

So John and Corine moved into the new house 
alone, and if I were telling a fairy story I might 
close now with saying that they lived long and 
happily together and died at a good old age. But, 
as it is not a fairy story, I must proceed, merely in- 
timating that, if you suppose they are still living 
there and are still happy, you are entirely right. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


THE CEASS ONCE MORE. 

The reason why Helen and Corine had always 
been so much sought after as committee members 
was not simply that they had a better insight into 
the affairs in hand than did the others. One of 
their strong points was that they interested them- 
selves in their duties when appointed to serve on 
committees, and went at their work with prompt- 
ness and energy. They had lost none of their old- 
time characteristics, although they had not served 
as a class committee for nine years. 

As self-appointed committee on re-union they 
went at the work in hand with all their former 
energy. It made no dijBference to them that the 
time was a year in the future. They saw no harm 
in getting the arrangements made before it was 
absolutely necessary. As soon as Corine had re- 
turned, they began a correspondence on the plan. 
Their first step was to arrive at a thorough under- 
standing between themselves of just what they had 
in view. They both naturally detested doing any- 
thing aimlessly. 


(397) 


398 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


It was not a difficult matter to arrive at an under- 
standing on this important point. Then they pro- 
ceeded to put themselves into communication with 
the other members of the class. The most of these 
were easy of access, and the others they found out 
by dint of careful inquiry. 

They were gratified to find that their plan met 
with general approval. What pleased them still 
more was the information received from their 
former classmates without exception, that they not 
only approved of having the re-union, but, as far 
as it was possible to judge at that time, they were 
confident that they would be able to attend. The 
invitations sent out included not only the mem- 
bers of the class, but their families as well. 

It had not seemed long when the winter was 
already gone, and April and May were passing 
swiftly by. The day set for the assembly found the 
identical great wagon in which the class had gone 
to the farm as middlers, drawn up before Deacon 
Doner’s door. It was again decked out in the old 
colors, blue and gold. A merry company was con- 
gregating on the veranda, and not a few healthy, 
red-cheeked children were scampering about the 
lawn, much to the agitation of their mothers, who 
did so want their waists and dresses to keep clean, 
at least until they got them out to the farm. 


the class once more. 


399 


There were eight of these youngsters trotting 
about the lawn. They all seemed to owe allegi- 
ance to one queen, in the person of our little 
friend, Faith Corine. She was now a young miss 
of almost six years. Tittle Ruth was just four, and 
a jolly team they made. 

Then there were two little Greens, Thomas, jr., 
aged four and a half, and his brother, Walter Drew 
Green, almost two years his junior. 

A little fellow whom they called Geordie seemed 
to be a great chum of theirs. His full real name 
was George Bennett Stevens, and he was only a 
few months younger than Tommy Green. They 
were naturally good friends, as Tommy’s parents 
were next door neighbors of Geordie’ s grand- 
parents. 

George Bennett’s little sister was a wee mite of 
two years. Usually she was the constant com- 
panion of her brother, but to-day she seemed 
entirely taken up with the more congenial company 
of a new friend she had made, in the person of a 
young Chicago lady named Marguerite Florella 
Smith, and at the mischievous age of nineteen 
months. With these two, evidently despising the 
company of the boys, was a young man named 
Freddie Schultz. 

On the porch, in their mothers’ arms, but 


400 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


frequently transferred to the arms of their mothers’ 
classmates, there were four more babies. One of 
these was Miss Gertrude Green, “seven months 
old last Saturday” her mother had “explained,” 
she declared, “two hundred times this morning.” 

Then there was Master Frank Rodney Chamber- 
lain, just two days older than Gertrude. 

And there was a sweet little girl nine months 
old, whose mother called her Agatha. Harry was 
calling her mother Mrs. Schultz. You will know 
her better when I call her Milda. 

Last, but, judging by the “fuss” her mother 
was making over her, not least, there was Miss 
Hazel Irene Smith, sister of Marguerite Florella. 

We must make the acquaintance likewise of a 
few of the grown folks. This business-like man, 
sitting on the step, repairing a wagon wheel for 
Tommy Green, is Mr. Smith of Chicago. This 
pleasant-looking young man with the merry 
twinkle in his eye is the Reverend Gustavus 

Schultz, of B , Pennsylvania. This sweet 

little body talking with Grandma Doner is Mrs. 
James Stevens. The two gentlemen to whom 
Pastor Schultz is talking about the Pennsylvania 
oil-fields you know. You say not? Why, you 
surely ought to recognize Willie Seeler and Rob 
Hoodley. 


THE CIvASS ONCE MORE. 


401 


As for the others, you cannot mistake them. 
The Deacon is there, and Mrs. Doner and Erwin. 
The other children of the Doner family have gone 
to the farm already, starting early to have time to 
see to the completion of certain necessary arrange- 
ments. We have already spoken to Helen and 
Harry. Here are John and Corine. Tom and 
Fannie are there, of course. Jim Stevens, as 
robust and funny as ever in spite of his serving 
as pastor of a large congregation at C , is try- 

ing to help Mrs. Smith with the baby. Jane 
Armster, you would have recognized her among a 
thousand women. 

You miss somebody ? Yes, some bodies. For 
neither Hal Dee is here, nor Mary Eansen, nee 
Charm an, nor her sister-in-law, Ada Gray. You 
will see them all at the farm, however. They 
would have greatly enjoyed driving in that morning 
to join the crowd at the Deacon’s, but it would not 
do to take the children out so early as would have 
been required to reach town from the country in 
time to start with the band-wagon party. So they 
just drove over to the farm, except Hal, who lived 
there, intending to give the others a royal welcome 
when they arrived. 

It seems strange to see them all together here in 
Riverton once more, but the manner of their gath- 
26 


402 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


ering had been very simple. The Chamberlains, 
the Smiths, the Schultzes, and the Stevenses, had 
all arrived in the early part of the week, and had 
been visiting with their parents, who still resided 
in Riverton. The Grays had done likewise the 
week before, and were spending their time at Ada’s 
home in the country. Willie Seeler, who had 
removed with his widowed mother to Boston, 
where he was in the insurance business, and Rob 
Hoodley, who was now living with his parents in 
New York, had arrived the day before, and had 
been guests of John and Corine. The others, the 
Greens and Jane Armster, were, as you know, at 
home in Riverton. 

The crowd is ready to start at any time, but they 
are waiting for Pastor Denton and his family, whom 
Helen and Corine had invited to take part in the 
merry-making. Here they come now, and off they 
all start; the Dentons in their carriage, the Doners 
in their phaeton, but the rest all in the band- 
wagon. It is pretty tight squeezing, getting them 
all into the wagon, but it was as Jim said, “Arter 
we get started we will get shaken down and will 
have room to spare. ’ ’ 

If such a thing were possible, this wagon-load 
was even more boisterous than the one which had 
gone out to the farm eleven years before, when 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 


403 


these folks were High School middlers. They 
laughed and they talked, and the children shouted 
— ‘‘hollered ” expresses it better, perhaps — and the 
babies crowed and cried. 

‘ ‘ Why, the ride itself is enough to reward us for 
coining so far,” said Willie Seeler and Rob 
Hoodley with one consent. 

When they reached the farm, the crowd at that 
end was waiting for them. 

More new faces. 

Gordon Gray, a sharp-eyed and sharp-witted and 
witty-tongued newspaper man from the booming 
West, where he and Ada had settled soon after their 
marriage five years before, and where they had be- 
come identified with their growing, pushing town’s 
enterprises and interests. It was like feeling a 
breath from the prairies to meet them both. Ada’s 
one-time sourness and crabbedness had not returned 
again. The two little ones who clung to her skirts 
as the wagon-load drove up showed no trace of 
having inherited any of that useless property from 
their mother. 

“Is it a load of crazy folks, mamma?” asked 
Timothy, the first-born. 

“I think it must be,” answered his mother with 
a laugh. “And if we are not on the look-out, my 
son, I’m afraid we will catch the craziness too.” 


404 HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 

When the little fellow saw his mother enthusiast- 
ically greeting her schoolmates a few minutes 
later, he ran in alarm to his father and cried ; 

“ Papa, papa, mamma’s goned crazy. See, look 
at her.” 

But his father said, “Never mind, Tim. It’s 
the kind of craziness that does people good. You 
and sister Jessie run and get crazy too, like those 
boys and girls that are piling out of the wagon.” 

If you had seen the two young Grays five 
minutes later, you would have noticed that they 
had taken their father’s command seriously and 
were scrupulously obedient children. 

The man standing there with Mr, Gray is Hal 
Tee. See how heartily Rob Hoodley is shaking 
hands with him. 

“Where’s the wife, Hal ?” says he. 

“ Old bach,” says Hal. “Which is yours, Rob?” 
scanning the women. 

“Same here,” says Rob. “Old bach.” 

Whereat they shook hands again, this time more 
heartily still than before. 

“We’ve been shaking on the bachelor question,” 
explained Rob to Mrs. Gray, who just then came 
up to greet him. 

“Well, I’ve been in the neighborhood almost 
two weeks now,” said she, “and, if reports are 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 405 

worth anything, to-day will be the last time Hal 
will give you the bachelor’s grip.” 

“ Is that so, Hal?” says Rob. 

“ Fact,” says he. 

“ In the same boat again,” says Rob. 

And once more they wring each others’ hands 
almost off*. 

Here are some other folks that are anxious to 
speak to Rob. 

“This is my brother, Rob,” says Ada. “Peter, 
this is Mr. Robert Hoodley of New York.” 

“Happy to know you sir,” says Peter Taiisen. 
“You’ve met my wife, I s’pose.” 

“Well, rather,” says Rob, shaking Mary’s hand 
as hard as he dares. “ I’d not be likely to forget 
the girl that sat across the aisle from me for three 
whole years. Where’s the family, Mary?” 

“He’s sleeping,” says Mary. “But he will not 
be very long, if this racket keeps up.” 

“It ought to keep up,” says Rob. “We came 
here to-day to raise the roof. How old is the boy ? 
And what’s his name?” 

“ He was two years old last week. We call him 
Robert.” 

“After me?” 

“ O no, you conceited man ! He’s named after 
his uncle Robert.” 


4o6 her place assigned. 

“Well,” says Rob, “that must mean myself. 
I’ve got the rest of the children all calling me 
‘uncle.’ ” 

Smiling groups had formed everywhere, and in 
them all similar conversations were going on, the 
groups joining and separating, mixing and shifting. 

The old-fashioned dinner was served at twelve 
o’clock by the sun. One huge long table had 
been set in the long dining room, and they all ate 
“at one settin’.” (This was Fannie’s phrase, of 
course). 

What a meal it was! If that table didn’t groan 
it was because it could not get a groan in edge- 
wise, as the table-talk flowed so freely. There was 
chicken, genuine spring chicken, and mashed 
potatoes, and cold cream slaw, and cold boiled 
ham, and cold roast turkey ; and white bread, and 
brown bread ; and peas, and string beans ; and 
cucumber pickles, and peach pickles, and spiced 
apples, and spiced pears ; and three kinds of pre- 
serves, and as many kinds of jam ; and apple 
butter, and peach butter, and pear butter, and 
grape butter ; and several kinds of jelly ; and nice 
sweet grass butter; and lots of milk, and whole 
pitcherfuls of cream ; and apple pie, and cherry 
pie, and lemon custard pie, and raisin pie, and 
sugar pie for the children (old and young) ; and 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 


407 


coffee cake, and ginger bread ; and white cookies, 
and brown cookies, and marvelous cookies with 
white icing, strewed with red and blue and yellow 
sugar ; and rice pudding ; and chocolate cake, and 
cocoanut cake, and banana cake, and fig cake, and 
sponge cake, and marble cake ; and tea, and coffee ; 
and strawberries. 

These things were all placed on the table in one 
course, and then the guests gathered round. 

There was a short prayer by Pastor Denton. 

Then they all addressed themselves to the task 
set before them. 

It was a genuine caution to see them eat. Of 
course, there was more than enough for a whole 
regiment provided, but when I tell you that at 
the start Jim Stevens called out that they should 
all eat slowly so that they could eat more, and 
that they obeyed his commands exactly, and 
that there would be intervals when nobody could 
eat a bite for five minutes because Tom or Jim or 
Mr. Gray or Mr. Smith had said something funny, 
and that they remained at table fully an hour, you 
will believe me when I say that everything on the 
table was at least touched. 

After dinner the men stretched about two dozen 
hammocks under the trees for the women and the 
children. Then they went down to the creek to 


4o8 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


shoot turtles and try to catch a few fish, for fear 
they would not have enough to eat for supper, 
judging by the dinner. They were not to stay at 
the creek too long, as there was to be a regular 
class-meeting at four o’clock. Turtles were scarce 
and good shooting was still scarcer, fish and good 
fishing ditto, and the men returned in straggling 
groups, each group explaining that “ the other fel- 
lows have the fish and the turtles.” 

At four o’clock the meeting came to order. 
Pastor Denton opened it with a fitting invocation. 
Then the old officers were declared still holding 
office. Tom once more made some witty “ remarks 
by the chair,” as he had done at that first meeting, 
thirteen years before. He then called on Deacon 
Doner to address the class. 

The good deacon was equal to the occasion, and 
was loudly cheered when he finished. 

“Now,” said Tom, “the secretary informs me 
that she has no minutes of the proceedings of the 
class since its graduation, ten years ago. I shall 
therefore ask each member of the class to furnish 
us with a record of the actions and experiences of 
that part of the class with which he or she is most 
intimately acquainted, and of which he or she has 
been keeping track since June, i88i. Of course, 
there are some things with which we are all 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 


409 


acquainted, but it will not barm any to have those 
repeated too. Mrs. Thomas Green, you may 
begin.’’ 

“Nasty man, to make me talk first.” But she 
did as he had asked. 

When Fannie had finished her racy account of 
her life since she left school, not omitting a sly 
“dig” or two at Tom as of yore, they all agreed 
that he had made an excellent selection of first 
speaker. 

He went the rounds, ending with himself. When 
all had finished they had a complete idea of just 
what they had all been doing since they had 
separated as a class. The narrations were not of a 
bright and happy nature throughout. They had 
all had their trials and disappointments, as well as 
their successes and happinesses ; and, though the 
reading of this novel kind of minutes was fre- 
quently interrupted with laughter and applause, 
still, when Tom ended the list, they were all 
deeply impressed with that great truth with the 
expression of which he so beautifully closed : 

“ Life is real, life is earnest.” 

Pastor Denton was then asked to address them. 
He complied. They had asked him at a well- 
timed moment. Inspired by the narration of these 


410 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


young lives, he took up the thread that Tom bad 
touched at the close of his remarks, Longfellow’s 
“ Psalm of Life.” With it as a text be gave them 
a delightful address, interspersing it, as he pro- 
ceeded, with fragments of the poem, until he had 
applied the whole with the exception of the words 
with which he concluded his stirring peroration : 

“ In the world’s broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of life, 

Be not like dumb, driven cattle. 

Be a hero in the strife.” 

They were still sitting under the spell of the 
thoughts that had been awakened by the proceed- 
ings of the afternoon, when the supper bell rang. 

Nobody was the least bit hungry, but the good 
women who had been enlisted by Helen and Corine 
to *‘do the cooking” would think of no other ar- 
rangement — the folks must have supper. 

It was a blessing that it was not so extensive as 
the dinner had been. As it was, it was bountiful 
enough, and bore unmistakable signs of having 
been prepared by those same lavish hands whose 
skill and perseverance had made that wondrous 
dinner possible. 

After supper they all strolled and sat and stood 
around, everybody enjoying every moment. No- 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 411 

body was in a burry to leave. Nobody saw any 
inducement to leave. Nobody wanted to bear a 
word or tbink a thought about leaving. 

There was ample accomodation for laying the 
children down when they got sleepy, and they 
were soon all stowed away, some lying straight as 
arrows, others coiled up in wonderful tangles, but 
all sleeping as only children can who have had 
free run of a farm for a whole long day in June. 

The babies had been thought of likewise. All 
the old cradles in the neighborhood had been bor- 
rowed, and it was surprising how good the babies 
all were. The country air had evidently done 
them good also. 

The grown folks stayed out on the porch until 
after eight o’clock. Then they went inside the 
house, and were soon gathered around the organ 
for a good “sing.” All the fine old hymns were 
rendered by the full chorus, the deacon joining in 
as lustily as the rest. 

At ten the adjournment of this most pleasant 
class-meeting came. 

Then there was the rattling of the great band- 
wagon, the snorting of the horses, the yellow light 
of lanterns, the sleepy protests of the children, 
loth to wake up from sweet dreams, the slow “ good 
byes,” the cautious careful bundling up of the 


412 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


babies, and off they were into the starry night, 
leaving the old farm and the old house to sink into 
peaceful, restful stillness after their exertions in 
entertaining the merry, lively class of ’8i, R. H. S. 

The end of the week found most of the class at 
their respective homes, thinking over the happy 
time they had had as the guests of Helen and Corine. 
Helen was still at Riverton, dividing her time be- 
tween her own home and Corine’s. They drove 
out to the farm together on Monday of the next 
week. They had a few things to get, that had 
been left there on the night of the re-union. Be- 
sides, they wished to see the good women who had 
done so much toward making the affair a success 
from the epicure’s point of view, and give them 
some compensation for their work. 

They had not far to go. The very first woman 
on whom they called — she was the one who had 
taken the leading part — put a stop to their in- 
tentions. 

“Why, ladies, what can ye mean by a wantin’ 
to pay us fer that? We’s all agreed that we’s en- 
joyed it as much as any o’ you’s. We’s hed more 
fun with the cookin’ then you’s hed all together, 
an’ we’s ’ll never fergit that day. An’ sech 
singin’ ! I tole Barb Sanders it wuz jest like the 
angels in heaven. An’ then to think o’ me takin’ 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 413 

pay fer a little work like that from Miss Perkins, 
as took my poor boy in ’er own house wen he wuz 
pert nigh killed in the factory, an’ nursed him 
there three hull weeks an’ more, an’ wouldn’t hear 
to takin’ no pay. I guess not! That hain’t the 
kind o’ critter Sallie Takin is, no sir-ree. An’ 
’tain’t no use o’ you’s goin’ to see the ethers, 
’cause they wouldn’ take nothin’ no more’n me.” 

So the girls’ trip was cut unexpectedly short, 
and they drove home very slowly. They were 
talking about their old class-mates, whom they had 
seen all together once more, but who now were 
scattered to the four winds again. They had com- 
mented on each one, and nothing more was to be 
said, when Helen remarked : 

‘‘ Well, Corine, we’ve talked about all of them, 
now, except ourselves. I haven’t had a good 
chance to ask you any questions since I came. 
First we were so busy getting things arranged, and 
then the others came. How are you getting 
along?” 

“Why, Nellie, haven’t I been writing to you 
every week almost, ever since I came back from the 
mountains last summer?” 

“ Yes, I know. But I like to talk things over at 
any rate. It makes them seem more real than 
when you only write.” 


414 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


So Corine had to tell her all about her perfect 
happiness, and how much more she liked her new 
life than the old, and how good and kind John 
always was, and how much she was learning of 
him. 

“What about nursing that boy that had the 
accident ?” 

“Oh, I didn’t want you to know about that 
yet I wanted to do more before I told you that I 
had taken up a different kind of work with the 
new life. Nellie, I wouldn’t have believed it two 
years ago, but do you know? — I felt better taking 
care of that poor boy one minute, than I did all 
the while I was making that great speech at X. I 
am firmly convinced that my whole life at that 
time was a mere pretense. My own self pretended 
that it was doing the best that could be done for 
itself. Now I can’t understand how I ever could 
have been satisfied with the life I was then lead- 
ing, while then I was so taken up with what I was 
pretending, that I was out of patience with you 
more than once for not agreeing with me. If you 
could know all the impatient thoughts that used to 
wriggle through my mind when you were so 
sweetly trying to benefit me, you would have a 
poor opinion of me. No, I know that isn’t true, 
for you are not that kind of girl. But you cannot 


THE CLASS ONCE MORE. 


415 


imagine how unworthy I feel of all the happiness 
that has fallen to my lot, and has become mine 
through your love and patience.” 

Helen’s eyes were wet with tears. She was 
thinking of the days when she had been ready to 
despair of ever seeing Corine changed ; and here 
she was, not only changed, but changed into a 
being of such surpassing loveliness and tenderness 
in her faith. Had not Pastor Denton’s words 
proved prophetic? She remembered them now 
again, as vividly as she had heard them on the day 
they were spoken. 

‘‘Barriers that seem to you not to have been 
shaken an inch, may yet be ready to totter and fall.” 

Was it not so ? Only two years ago, and Corine 
was placing herself seemingly beyond reach for- 
ever. But just that moment which had seemed to 
complete the barrier that separated her from her 
true life forever had proved to be the moment 
when this barrier’s last inch of foundation was 
crumbling away, ready to precipitate the whole 
formidable structure into a mass of ruins. 

“Ah, Nellie,” continued Corine, “if only every 
soul that was going astray from the path that 
leads to its true life here on earth and to a happy 
life hereafter could have you hovering near as a 
guardian angel.” 


4i6 


HER PEACE ASSIGNED. 


“You mustn’t say that, Corine,” murmured 
Helen through her tears. “I do not claim the 
credit of having saved you from unhappiness.” 

“For which very reason all the more credit is 
yours, Nellie dear.” 

They were both silent for some minutes. 

“Of what are you thinking, Corine?” Helen 
presently asked. 

“ I was thinking of some of the foolishness we 
used to talk at the ‘ Teague ’ meetings. But it was 
worse than foolishness. It was downright wicked- 
ness, and I’m glad I discovered it in time, or rather, 
had it discovered for me.” 

“ Do you know, Corine, that what pleased me 
most of all in your transformation was that you 
recognized that the first step must be accepting 
Christ?” 

“Yes, Nellie ; I wish all people could be brought 
to see the light as it has so mercifully shone on me. 
I wish all men and women could be induced to 
allow Christ to determine the steps they take and 
the positions for which they strive. I know now 
that there is no field of action, no sphere of being, 
no place of existence, that has not been provided 
for in God’s blessed word and by Christ’s precious 
doctrine. And oh, how happy all the world might 
so easily be, if they would only cease their mis- 


THE CEASS ONCE MORE. 


417 


taken notions, and allow themselves to be planned 
for and guided by the wisdom of the Master. The 
world will never find happiness until it learns and 
believes and trusts that God has ordered all things 
wisely, and that it is the part of wisdom to leave 
things in the order in which He has arranged them 
and in the places to which He has assigned them. 
This miserable foolish twaddle, about God’s having 
been unjust to us women in giving us husbands, 
and in fixing a certain relation between us and 
them; this brainless chaff about God’s having 
made a mistake in restricting our operations to so 
narrow a sphere as the home, when the relation 
that God has fixed between man and woman is the 
basis of so much earthly well-being, and when the 
home is the throne whose power influences the 
destinies of the whole vast mass of humanity, is 
positively sickening. It makes me almost despise 
myself, when I remember that I used to think 
every fibre of my being must be bent to spread 
those mischievous, destructive notions.” 

‘‘ Well, Corine, God has changed all that now. 
And since you have found His way, you and I are 
surely the happiest women in all the world.” 

Did she speak truth? 

The picture that you see shall tell you, a picture 
mellow in the soft rays of the setting sun. 

27 


4i8 


HER PLACE ASSIGNED. 


It shone with a benediction on their fair faces, 
faces that were bright with the earnest of the in- 
dwelling Spirit. 

Its beams touched with glowing pride two manly 
forms reclining on the soft green sward, each 
waving greetings to the woman that he loved best. 

It flashed with silvery-golden happiness on 
grandma’s brow and baby’s, smiling their welcome 
from the west balcony. 

It kissed with afiection the laughing rosy cheeks 
of Faith and Ruth, who bounded gleefully across 
the lawn to meet mamma and auntie. 

It cast a sacred halo over the charming home. 

And from the east and the west, and the north 
and the south, and above and below, there seemed 
to come a chorus of the voices of angels, singing 
sweet songs, and saying as they sang, 

“ Happy is the man that getteth wisdom. She 
is more precious than rubies. Her ways are ways 
of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace.” 


THE END. 


i'l i-i : r-'. 




^4"'ir;4 'i til. •', 'v ; ■•'• r'> '• < r' , 





1 




